The Tyranny of King Desmond
by A Penguin Named Jack
Summary: A constitution built atop the blood and ashes of the innocent, an empire fed only by war and death. One crown... one ruler... and two not-so-super best friends to stop King Desmond. obvious AU story
1. The Last Serious Chapter

**This might replace AC: Reckoner as my main focus for the moment being (writer's block is kinda a bitch recently), but who knows? Let's take a look anyways. I do not own Assassin's Creed or any of the other characters/references used within this series. This is just an idea I had when I had too much time on my hands.**

Connor heard the cannonball strike and he felt himself being thrown and colliding with the ground. Haytham was approaching him, and Connor called to his father.

"Surrender and I will spare you!"

"Brave words from a man about to die." Haytham was bending down, wrapping heavy hands around Connor's neck.

"You fare no better!" Connor protested, having not realized yet that he was kind of being strangled by his father.

Haytham was ranting to him, about how even when the Assassins thought they had won the Templars would rise again.

"It is because the Order is born of a REALIZATION. We require no creed. No indoctrination by desperate old men. All we need is that the world be as it is. And THIS is why the Templars will never be destroyed!" Haytham's eyes were filled with a piercing rage as he started to tighten his grip, yet Connor saw that he was holding something back. As to give Connor a chance to save himself, in exchange for his own life.

_Good-bye, Father. I wish that things may have been different, perhaps we will see who was right when we meet again at the crossroads. _Connor closed his eyes and prepared for the big moment. The knife slid from the bracer into the grip of his palm. Connor was about to bring it plunging into Haytham's neck when he heard a loud bang followed by the sound of something being sucked into a rapid vacuum.

Haytham too was surprised. He released his iron-hard grip on Connor. A blinding white light was filling the space around Fort George. Connor found he was genuinely frightened.

"Father, what is happening?" He stammered in his confusion as the light enveloped them.

"Connor, you were about to kill me with that stupid little knife of yours while I was busying myself with snapping your wretched neck. Don't think that I'm ready to return to the whole working out our complicated relati-" Haytham was lecturing him when they were fully consumed by the light.

Connor felt himself being torn apart, piece by piece. His body was disintegrating, like particles of sand caught in a dreadful wind. He expected that he would be screaming, the experience tormenting like a hundred angry hornets embedding their stingers in flesh over and over. But it felt tranquil, painless. Connor felt insignificant as his degeneration had nearly consumed all of him.

_This must be what a speck of dust feels like. _Connor thought as he became nothing.

* * *

Haytham felt himself becoming whole again. His head was slightly shaky, but he had been through several worse surreal experiences. He quickly glanced around. Aside from the native boy who was his child reconstructing from fragments in front of him, nothing seemed out of place. Fort George seemed to be exactly the same, right down to the corpses of mercenaries and cannon damage.

"Father…" Connor was starting up again. Haytham groaned. It was always something grating that came out of that boy's voice. Charles Lee this, George Washington that. Why do you insist on killing our prisoners, why are you so hard on me, the questions and remarks a naïve boy who had yet to fully learn the world's ways would ask. It almost made him regret saving the boy from the noose at New York. Almost…

_He makes me proud, in a way. He killed all my closest associates and friends, and to be fair he is quite the pain in the arse disregarding the former. Yet, he shows great conviction. Strength. Courage. Noble qualities. The naïveté is still quite the problem, but he may work that out with time and hardship. Perhaps he represents what you wish you could be, Haytham, had your own father not died and had Birch not swept into your life. _

"I am glad that you are still here, father. I thought that the light was the end of our journey." Connor was rambling. Haytham shook his head. Had he already forgotten that the two were trying to kill each other mere moments before?

"We have unfinished business, son." Haytham warned Connor as he drew his sword from its scabbard.

"Father, wait. We do not know what has just transpired, I feel as if it may be unwise to resume our previous transgressions so soon." Connor did not unsheathe that comical tomahawk of his, the one shaped like the Assassin brand.

"You had your chance, Connor, and I regrettably must inform you that you passed on it." Haytham charged at Connor with his sword held high, but Connor dodged. Haytham repeatedly tried to finish his son off, but the blasted native kept avoiding his attacks, pleading negotiations.

"Quit avoiding me, blast it!" Haytham snarled at Connor.

"Father, please! I sense that something is off!" Connor kept begging him. Haytham, with a quick movement, swept Connor to the ground. Haytham drew out his flintlock pistol, pointing it at the trapped Connor.

"Then I suppose I will have to investigate then, won't I? Right after you die." No more hesitations, he had tolerated the boy long enough.

"Do it then." Connor cursed at him.

"Rather uninspired choices of parting words, but at least you're not yapping like a pathetic mongrel anymore." Haytham readied his aim, prepared to pull the trigger when he heard a growing sound. A rumbling noise, like the earth splitting apart. From the clouds above, metallic objects burst from the darkness.

"Watch the skies, father!" Connor exclaimed. All his years as a Templar, going around the world, and Haytham had never seen anything like those… those… _birds _that were above them right now.

Haytham scrambled to the walls of Ft. George. He gasped in astonishment. New York and the Atlantic Ocean were gone. What surrounded the Fort now was a muddy and chaotic battlefield, the remnants of a small town blasted to bits by the carnage.

"What the..." These weren't the Loyalists and Patriots he was used to seeing. The guns they were using were far more advanced that anything Haytham could've dreamed of. He watched in shock as one man behind an impromptu barricade with a mounted weapon of some sort rapidly mowed down an entire garrison of charging troops. A more organized group with matching white and red uniforms was crushing a group of rag-tag mismatched troops. Haytham considered intervening in the battle, but he sought to observe instead. After all, he didn't know which side to fight for yet.

The metal birds were dropping some sort of objects that exploded, sending rag-tags flying. Interesting weapon design. Haytham would have to try and procure some for the Templars. Charles would love them, for sure.

"There's a city, father!" Connor had wandered to the opposite end of the fort. Haytham sighed, and rushed to see what his son was blabbering about.

* * *

"Preposterous!" Haytham exclaimed as he glimpsed the city. A mismatch of architectural styles, as if the builders had gotten bored and slapped together everything they could think of. He saw bits of Venice, bits of Paris, bits of Boston and other cities he recognized but there was much foreign.

There were gigantic buildings that appeared to be made of steel. Connor gaped in amazement. They seemed to reach for the skies, higher than anything he had ever seen. Flashing lights adorned them, irritating Connor's eyes. He wondered if he could climb them. The lights were shifting into words, sprouting terms he didn't recognize. _Coca-Cola, Amazing Spider-Man, Herne+, what are all these words meant to show?_

"Please, someone help!" A frightened voice, young and feminine shocked the two from their awe. Haytham and Connor turned to see a girl in a redcoat's uniform panting in the main area of Fort George.

Her hair was messily scrambled and her clothing seemed to be hastily thrown on as if someone had forced them off of her earlier. She was bleeding from the mouth and limping. Connor and Haytham leapt down in concern.

"Are you alright? Why are you dressed like a man?" Connor calmly asked her. She stared at him, as if to say, are you blind to the blood coming out of my mouth?

"Ignore him. He hasn't quite worked out the kinks when it comes to your kind." Haytham pushed Connor aside, to his son's protest. "What is wrong, child?"

"King Desmond's men… they've been rounding up people and sending them to these special places where they're imprisoned and killed." She seemed calm, but there was a hint in her voice that her mental state wasn't completely reflective.

"I don't know how long we've been here, but it was always just me and my father. Nothing here makes sense… there's so much that's wrong. People, technology, everything. They eventually took him. My father." She remained unruffled.

"I pursued the horseless carriage they put him in, but the King's men spotted me. They were on me, hurting me. I remember being dragged someplace before waking up in front of the King himself. He was naked, and forcing my clothes off of me. I fought back, but he still managed to do his deed. I was crying as he taunted my helplessness. He had my father brought in the witness it, before giving order. They lopped his head off, his blood got on me. The King killed my father in front of me." Even when describing her ordeal, she didn't show any sign of emotion.

"They kept me contained with other women, every other day taking another who would return shattered. One day, it was my turn again. But I wouldn't let him have the pleasure of taking me again. Not after what he did to my father. As he finished removing my coat and pleasuring himself to my bare breasts, I kicked him down there as hard as I could. He howled with pain, and it gave me a temporary sense of vengeance."

"I hastily dressed myself, and I was fleeing through the city. They caught up with me at the outskirts, and were on me. I managed to fight them off, but I saw that more were approaching. I managed to find this fort, thinking maybe I could…" They were interrupted by a loud, amplified voice.

Several of the uniformed men that Haytham had seen at the battleground were pouring in, accompanied by peculiar flashing moving objects. These must be the horseless carriages she was talking about. Peculiar indeed… he would try to acquire some of these as well for the Templars. One of the men, dressed in some sort of armor, was holding a cone-like object to his mouth.

"Eleanor Mallow, you are charged with attempting to deny our holy worldly emperor, divine ruler by right for life, the honorable King Desmond Miles of his daily pleasure! A crime punishable by torture and death! Surrender yourself now, and your torture will be less severe but painful regardless!"

The girl gripped Haytham for balance. "Please… don't let them take me back to him…"

"Stay out of this, strangers. Or else you will both be detained for questioning as well. You have been warned. Step away from the King Desmond's sex toy now." Weapons were being aimed at them.

"What do you say, Connor?" Haytham asked.

"I will not stand by idly while those in power use it to oppress those lower than them. That is why I fight in the first place, father."

"Then why don't we put aside our meandering conflicts and teach these absurd men a lesson in proper etiquette regarding the fairer sex?"

"I have never felt more comfortable agreeing with you, father." Connor nodded to his father.

"We… will… open… fire… in three… two…" The armored man was yelling now.

Connor and Haytham raised their pistols and blew the man's brains out, his head exploding in red mist.

**This is where the shark comes in and I jump it. **


	2. Reservoir Ponies

The now-headless man slumped as Haytham and Connor blew away their pistol smoke. Rats were swarming over his body, consuming the meat. The mouths of his men were gaping in shock. One of them screeched in a British accent.

"My lord, they just murdered Kenneth!"

"You bastards!" Another piped up.

"FIRE AT WILL!" One of them squealed. Seeing all the weapons pointed at them, Haytham thought to himself _Hmm, maybe we should've just let them take the girl. _

Haytham heard hundreds of shots rapidly fired, but there was no pain. No smoke coming from bloody holes in his body. _Good, maybe they all aimed at Connor instead. _But to his dismay he saw that his son was perfectly unharmed. Connor was standing there, with some inane expression on his face and some scrap of metal in his hands.

The men in the uniforms all lay crumpled in a gory pile, blood seeping and bodies torn apart by bullets. Haytham kicked away a stray eyeball as he examined the carnage. Something had deflected the shots back at their firers, killing them all. No use mucking about in these dribbling intestines for answers, it was obvious that Connor had something to do with it.

"Fess up, son. What witchcraft has that old man been teaching you?" Haytham growled as he grabbed his son by the collar, shaking violently.

"Father, it's just this odd fragment that does it. I found it on Oak Is-" Haytham instantly recognized the shard in his son's hand as belonging the Precursor civilization. Perhaps this would open the door. Haytham snatched it from Connor's fingers.

"Children shouldn't play with objects of such magnitude, especially if they don't realize the extent of their power." Haytham sarcastically told his son, waving it in front of Connor's eyes.

"Father, I am a grown-man. Give it ba-"

"Well then, I'm afraid that you'll never be old enough to handle this artifact with proper care then." Haytham pocketed the shard. It may come in handy later, especially if this King Desmond the uniformed men had mentioned was as powerful as they claimed.

* * *

The heavy and suffocating wet bag was lifted from his head. William opened his eyes just in time to see the metal bar smash against his face. His felt his nose pop and several teeth fly loose. A heavy boot pushed against his chest and he was down on the floor. Bastards had tied him to a chair. He was struggling intensely, but he couldn't slip out of the bonds. Someone was approaching as the men around him beat on him, cracking bones.

"You boys have had your fun. It's my turn now." The familiarity of the voice shocked William.

"Desmond? This has to be some pipe dream, you're dead." William gaped in astonishment, blood dripping from his puffy lips.

"Well, un-fucking-fortunately for you, this is very much real and here I'm alive as ever." Desmond laughed in a tone of sadism that William had never seen. He propped William's chair upright.

"Desmond, tell these men that there's been a mistake. You have to get me out of here, like you did at Abstergo. We need to stop Ju-" Desmond slapped William across the face.

"I wasn't lying when I said I was big enough to hit back now." Desmond grinned with glee. "And don't worry about Juno. I'll find her soon enough and bring her here. There's something very special I have planned for the bitch. Daniel Cross can attest for that, or at least what I didn't eat after I stripped the flesh from his bones and deep fried 'em! Kentucky Fried Templar, now that's an business idea!"

"Desmond, you're being manipulated. Snap out of it, you can't bend down to her no-" Desmond hit William again, knocking out some more teeth.

"For the last time, daddy dearest, Juno's plan has nothing to do with this. This is a new world that you die in. My world. My rules." Desmond mocked William.

"This is impossible." William protested, glaring at the monster masquerading as his son.

"You'd never believe me, father. I figured out everything. The grand secret behind everything was just one big fucking manipulation. All of us, from Juno to Vidic to me. We were all manipulated behind the scenes and fabric of our world by another reality, where every inch of our life was exploited was exploited in the name of mass entertainment!"

"You're mad, Desmond. Everything you say is impossible." William shouted at Desmond.

"I came across their world, the so-called original reality, on my travels through the plane of nothingness. I made sure to leave it in ashes. But it inspired me. I discovered the secrets of their weapons that they used to control us. I'm sick of it, you see. Being pushed around by you, pushed around by Abstergo, pushed around by Juno… I wanted to know what it felt like, to be in control of weak-minded rats. So I've been building my own utopia ever since, plucking bits and pieces from home with the power of Fapple. The Fapple of Desmondland!"

"You're a disappointment, Desmond." William couldn't grasp the magnitude of what his son was claiming.

"That's exactly what I want, dad. For you to continue egging on the man who has the scissors to your cord. Do it, dad. It'll make everything so much more satisfying."

* * *

"Do you know where we can find this King Desmond?" Haytham asked Eleanor Mallow, the girl in the redcoat uniform. She gazed hollowly at the city in the horizon, pointing at it.

"Well, that isn't very specific. For starters, that is a very big city. Could take weeks to search all of it."

"A big, extravagant palace. You can't miss it." The girl emotionlessly stated.

"Care to show me where? After all, there could be many big extravagant palaces in the city. Kings and their egos are like that, and this Desmond sounds like he fits the profile." Haytham shook his head.

"I'm not going back there. Not after what he did to me and my father." She made a cutting noise as she moved her hand across her throat.

* * *

Desmond took from inside his pants a large piece of duct tape. He pressed it against William's mouth.

"You ever watch My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, dad?" Reaching inside his pants again he took out a straight razor. "It's my personal favorite."

One of Desmond's men was carrying an out of place boombox. He hit a couple of buttons, and music started playing.

_My Little Pony, My Little Pony,_

_What is friendship all about?_

_My Little Pony, My Little Pony_

_Friendship is magic!_

_(My Little Pony)_

_I used to wonder what friendship could be._

_(My Little Pony)_

_Until you all shared its magic with me._

Desmond was dancing along to the magic as he advanced on the helpless William, although quite horribly. He stumbled over his feet, falling on his face. If he wasn't in such a predicament and if his mouth wasn't gagged, William would've laughed. Desmond got up and tried to dance again, only to suffer a repeat.

"Ah, fuck this. I'm just gonna walk over to you right now and cut your fucking ear off." Desmond stormed towards William.

Desmond slashed William's cheek, drawing blood. Grabbing William by the hair, he cursed his father to sit still and stop crying. He started to carve. As the blade of the knife cut its way through cartilage and flesh, William continued to frantically shake. The pain was unbearable.

"MMF MUFM FMFFM" William had no mouth, yet he had to scream. The ponies were singing about how he was the applejack of their eyes.

* * *

Connor finished dragging the last of the dead bodies to the pit. He kicked the dead man in the uniform down the slope to join his comrades. It seemed like such a waste, men who were just following orders tossed aside. But the other part of him said that there was no other way out, they had incited a conflict and it was their lives or those of the men. Connor sighed. A long and winding road led to the city in the distance. He began his journey.

"Where do you think you're going, Connor?" Connor glanced at Haytham. The two coldly gazed at each other, Connor on the road and Haytham at the rim of the Fort.

"To the city. I will find this King Desmond and end his tyranny." Connor told his father bluntly. Haytham was walking towards him, his head bowed and shaking.

"Again, Connor? Rushing off in a half-blinded attempt to save a world you know nothing about? You saw the power of the weaponry the King's men had. You ought to stay low, gather information, and wait for the crucial moment to strike." Haytham chastised his son.

"To let the King destroy more lives while we fiddle our thumbs and discuss tactics? No father, I believe that his tyranny must end now!"

"Rushing in with no plan will only get you killed, Connor! Stop and consider, for once in your life!" Haytham yelled back at Connor.

"Why would you care if I die or not, Templar?" Connor snapped at Haytham.

"For your mother's sa-" but Connor unexpectedly charged Haytham. He was pinned to the ground, Connor holding that stupid tomahawk mere centimeters from his neck. A look of repressed rage breaking through was growing in Connor's eyes.

"Do not dare use her to try and influence me again, father. Or else I will kill you without any sort of hesitation." Connor snarled with a venomous tone. He was running off, towards the city as Haytham got to his feet.

"CONNOR!" Haytham shouted at his son, but the boy never looked back. He held his face in his palm for a long time.

Would he remain in the fort, with the adolescent girl dressed in men's clothing? Or follow his son, to an almost predictable doom?

Haytham took a deep breath, and ran after his son.


	3. Connor meets Sigmund Freud

Haytham paused for breath by the bombed-out ruins of a small town. It felt as if he had been pursuing Connor for centuries, but the boy had ignored all of his shouts to stop and relent. Somehow, the boy never seemed to tire even when Haytham had dropped to his knees gratefully chugging in gasps of air. Connor had continued towards the city, the speed of an eagle and the stamina of a bear fueling him.

"Bloody hell… may be a headstrong arse but he's still mine…" Haytham told himself as he leaned against a crumbling wall. He almost felt ashamed that he was trying to kill the boy moments earlier. _I will find him and keep him safe. For you, Ziio and for his own sake. _Haytham pledged silently, hoping that Connor hadn't gotten himself killed yet.

He heard hysterical pleading from the within the ruins. Haytham rushed to investigate.

* * *

The vastness and scope of the city awed Connor. He had thought that Boston and New York were gigantic, but they were merely miniscule raindrops falling from a much larger cloud compared to this city. People were everywhere, dressed in varieties of dress and they were chattering in multiple tongues. Metal boxes drawn without horses moved down the streets at breakneck speeds, and some even moved through the air without a road. The buildings seemed even greater now that he was right in the city, piercing through the clouds themselves. He would enjoy exploring the city, once his business with King Desmond was finished…

Yet there was the sense of furtiveness and fear running in the city's veins. The crowds abruptly scattered whenever patrols of the men in uniforms came down the streets. Posters were everywhere, with the blood-red drawing of a man with a short-cut head of hair gazing into the souls of whoever was watching. KING DESMOND IS WATCHING YOU was written underneath the image. Bodies were everywhere, discarded in the streets or hanging from glowing poles. Connor saw a man in a uniform shove an elderly patron to the street and run off, carrying something belonging to the old man in his arms. Connor frowned. Clearly, he would have to spend some time liberating the city's people before confronting Desmond directly.

"Damned thugs! This accursed world will be the death of me…" The old man, a white beard complementing his bald head and round glasses was cursing.

"I saw what happened, Mr…?" Connor asked the old man.

"Freud. Sigmund Freud." The old man hurriedly told Connor, in quite an irate tone.

"You appear to be troubled, Freud." Connor said pointing out the obvious, once again.

"It is because I am. I have been just robbed by one of King Desmond's Assassins, of a box of brand new Cuban cigars. And I cannot pose for my PR photos without a cigar in my hand. I am quite fearful that I will be ruined." Sigmund Freud explained to Connor.

"Just what line of work requires cigars?" Connor asked, having not yet realized that the thief was getting away.

"I am a doctor of sorts, specializing specifically in the field of neurology. I consider myself to be an innovator, as there's no one else in my field that has their patients lie on couches and talk to them about dreams and childhood memories. It's a lengthy process due to the inner defense mechanisms that blot out experiences and emotions. I call it psychoanalysis. The cigars just make me look more sophisticated in my photos."

"Well then, I will have to retrieve your cigars from that man over th-" Connor turned around and realized that the robber was gone. Connor frowned, but he was getting used to disappointment.

"No matter really, more cigars will eventually turn up but it will be a torturous wait until then. But I see that there's something special about you, potentially a critical case to further my studies. Perhaps you would like to schedule a few appointments with me, Mr?"

"Connor. Just Connor." Connor refused to let slip the name of his father.

"Well, Connor you do seem like quite the resourceful lad. If you do manage to retrieve my cigars, I'll be sure to reward you with some of my ideas that I have yet to publish."

"It is a very big city, and I am certain that there will be much more I have to do before I can return to you, Mr. Freud." Connor said uncertainly, although he was intrigued by the reward.

"It's alright, alright. If you have the time, hurrah. If not – no harm done. But should you somehow find my cigars, I'll be here inside this general store. Because that is where brilliant innovations in the field of psychology come from. The general store."

"Well, that was interesting." Connor commented to himself as he walked away from the man.

* * *

From what remained of the roofs of the ruined town, Haytham observed the grisly scene unfolding in front of him. Individuals of both genders in roughly knit uniforms, obviously some sort of resistance group, were being forced to bury their own comrades alive at gunpoint. A masculine and burly man built like a grizzly was hopelessly weeping as he was forced to bash one of his comrades with a shovel to prevent them from rising from the graves. More men in the red and white uniforms, all having sadistic laughs. Civilians were present as well, many dead or being executed. Children were being lined up at firing rows. Haytham saw some of the men do unspeakable things to a pregnant lady. He looked away in disgust, as he overheard conversations between the bastards.

"So, where you taking all the babies?"

"To the quarry way out back. We's going to have a competition between our fellow Assassins, see who can get shoot down the most from the air."

These men were Assassins? Impossible, they were literally breaking every one of their silly creeds in this moment. Unless they were a renegade group. Either way, it had been a while since Haytham had killed Assassins. He would enjoy ending their wretched lives right here. In a leap of faith, he air assassinated the two guards. The other Assassins turned to look at him, all shitting their pants.

* * *

Sigmund Freud was pacing about the inside of the general store, wondering how people could get away with charging this much for a bottle of root beer. He heard the door creak open and slam with a bang. He turned around, and saw the boy named Connor from earlier. His hood had been pulled down, revealing a head of black hair tied back, and his white clothing had been doused with much blood.

"I suppose you have returned with my cigars?" Connor nodded and handed Freud the box. The man nodded in approval and took one from the box. The two strolled around the general store, Connor noting that it was true the cigars made him look more sophisticated. Perhaps he would try to acquire some for Achilles.

"It was a strange task, with the robber screaming about someone free-running up the walls like a boss. Whatever that meant. He had called me a bitch and asked what I was looking at, which is very odd that a term for a female dog was considered a derogatory term by him. So I cut off half his head with my tomahawk. He somehow managed to continue yelling as it punctured his eye and moved onto his brain, that he didn't like the taste of its chop. Strange, indeed." Connor shrugged.

"I suppose it is fine time that you receive a bit of compensation for your deeds, Connor." Freud told him.

"A couple of cigars for myself?" Connor asked hopefully.

"Oh no, I need all of these. There's so many different poses I have yet to try with cigars in my hand, and I can't afford to reuse cigars after takes. Ruins the freshness. Like I said earlier, I will give you one of my ideas."

"Oh, concerning what?" Connor said, hiding the disappointment in his voice.

"I call it the Oedipus complex, derived from the Greek tragedy _Oedipus Rex _where our titular hero Oedipus by fate murders his own father Laius and takes his mother Jocasta in marriage which results in four children."

"It sounds like a very sad story, which I do not like. But how does this connect to your idea, Freud?" Connor was feeling a bit uneasy.

"You have to understand the character of Oedipus, Connor, who was prophesized to murder his own father and marry his mother. His destiny moves us only because it might have been ours — because the Oracle laid the same curse upon us before our birth as upon him. It is the fate of all of us, perhaps, to direct our first sexual impulse towards our mother and our first hatred and our first murderous wish against our father. Our dreams convince us that this is so."

"Are you suggesting what I imply you to be?"

"Ah, correct. In my youth I found in myself a constant love for my mother, and jealousy of my father. I now consider this to be a universal event in childhood." Freud explained.

"Explain more. Surely such a desire couldn't be as common as you claim." Connor protested.

"The Oedipus complex occurs during stages of psychosexual development, Connor. Stage 3, the phallic stage, is when genitalia become a sensitive subject for young children. They're aware of their bodies, the bodies of other children, and the bodies of the parents in particular. They satisfy physical curiosity by exploring themselves and others, in doing so becoming aware of anatomic and gender differences."

"It develops further as psychosexual infantilism. The mother is the parent who gratifies the child's desires primarily, as they begin forming their own sexual identity. As this alters the relationship between child and parent, the parents devolve into objects of infantile sexual drive. The child directs his libido towards his mother, while reserving jealousy and emotional rivalry for his father given that the child wishes to be the one that sleeps with his mother. To be one in union with his mother, the id of the child's mind wishes to murder his father but the ego grounded in reality knows that his father is much stronger. As such, the id often manifests irrational and subconscious fears of the father."

"You mad bastard." Connor scolded Freud.

"My parents were married, thank you very much. But infantilism leads to psycho-logic defense, the unconscious mind using defense mechanisms to ease the conflict between id and ego. One of these is repression, as the mind conscious blocks memories, emotional impulses, and other ideas; but this does not fully resolve the conflict between id and ego. The other mechanism involves another one of my ideas, identification. In this, the child applies personality characteristics of his father, thus diminishing his own fears of his parent's superiority."

"This may lead to denouement, where an unresolved competition for the mother will lead to the persistence of the anachronistic sexual traits in the boy. Leading to an overly aggressive, ambitious, and personality as an adult. Therefore, proper parentin-"

"Enough, Freud. I have had it with your sick beliefs. I was never in love with my mother, nor did I wish to kill my father over her. Of course, I sometimes want to kill my father, but not for the reasons you list." Connor said.

**Objective obtained: Assassinate Sigmund Freud.**

"Blast, a new anomaly in research. A boy who wishes to kill his father but not over some sexual jealousy regarding his mother? She must've been a very lousy mother then." Connor angrily lifted Freud by the shoulders and tossed him headfirst into the slushie machine giving him super brain freeze.

"My mother was the only women that I ever loved, but not in the demeaning ways you suggest. I watched her burn to death in front of me, and I will not stand for men like you who sully my memory of her." Connor told Sigmund Freud in his super duper Mohawk language as the man writhed in a pool of bloody red cherry and blue raspberry that was so awesome Sigmund Freud blew up. This endeavor disappointingly proved to yet another waste of his time, but at least he now had a few cigars to make up for the trouble.

"Hello sir, would you like to hear my treatise regarding the benefits of taking an older woman as a lover?" Benjamin Franklin entered the general store. But Connor burst past him, fleeing back to the city where he had a job to do.

* * *

"Kill the taco-hat wearing interloper!" One of the Assassins was screaming as his fellows took aim with their guns. Haytham sighed again. They would never learn. With ease, he hooked his arm around the Assassin's neck, shielding his body from harm. The assassin screamed as the bullets shredded his body into red mist. Haytham was left holding what remained of his body, a spinal cord attached to a mutilated head. Like a javelin, Haytham tossed the bone at the firing line, somehow impaling all of them on the same spinal cord.

The remaining Assassins looked at the dead bodies of their fellows and then at Haytham. The demon in the blue hat was covered in blood, beckoning towards them. "We can take Johnny English here if we charge 'em all at once!" One of them cried out, hoping to enact a glorious final stand.

What a peculiar bunch, Haytham thought. If they couldn't kill him with their guns, what chance did they have against him in close quarters combat? A flailing grunt tried to embed a machete in Haytham's abdomen, but Haytham blocked the blade with his sword. Turning the leverage against his opponent, Haytham snatched the machete from the grunt before ramming it through the man's cheeks. Pushing the worthless knife-wielder away, Haytham turned to face two more attackers.

Readying his blade, Haytham kicked one of the Assassins who grunted with surprise as Haytham broke his charge. While the opponent was unbalanced, Haytham jabbed him in the belly with his sword and drove the blade up. With his free hand, Haytham withdrew his pistol from a holster and shot the other in knee crippling him. Tossing the gory mess that was the first assassin onto the second, he pierced his blade hard through the two bodies. The people that had been at death's door only moments before were now cheering him on and executing the scattered remnants of the assassins.

Haytham removed the damaged hidden blade from his arm. It had been his hidden blade ever since he had stolen it off an assassin in his youth, but Connor had seen to damage it during their confrontation at the fort. Fortunately, in spite of the more advanced gear they carried in this reality, these assassins still did run around with tiny knives for protection. He found a bracer that looked like it would fit his arm, taking it from the dismembered corpse of its wearer. Connor would likely whine about how it was indecent to loot the bodies of the dead, but Haytham was indifferent. It was no use in an Assassin whining about looting when the legendary assassin Ezio had done it.

Suddenly all the people who were cheering Haytham had their heads blow up. Haytham's jaw dropped in shock as he saw three people mounted on dinosaurs approaching him. The man in the center road a big ass T-Rex, his brown hair shortly cut. He had pimped out his boring white jacket by converting a panda pelt into a hood, rocket packs had been built into his shoes. His jeans were stained with the blood of insurgents. It was obviously King Desmond, since who else would be wearing a crown on a panda pelt at this time of day?

"General Hastings, General Crane, I sometimes despair of my project. I question my abilities and my strength. But with you two at my side, I believe we will bring liberty to my perfect world and bring it with merciless fists of steel! Can I have assurance of your loyalty?" The King mockingly asked the riders by his side.

"You have my solemn pledge." A man riding on a triceratops with pointy blonde hair, a sexy British accent, and glasses told him.

"And mine." A woman of average height with black hair and headphones on the velociraptor added. She wore red gloves and shoes. Neither of them seemed to show much genuine care about the King Desmond.

"Both of you shall be remembered as heroes. Just like Stalin did with his great friends Trotsky and Yezhov." Desmond promised, with a dubious grin on his face as he withdrew a big ass laser stick from his side that can't be named for fear of legal repercussions.

"Now to all you dismal freedom fighters, bend your knees and bow before your monarch Desmond Miles in the moments before you are blasted from the face of this reality!" Desmond cried out and then noticed that all the DFFs were already dead.

"What the fuck? I planned this amazing speech for weeks and all we have is my second lamest ancestor to hear it. This is your entire fault, Shaun!" Desmond was throwing a hissy fit.

"Um, King, I did advise you not to use your fapple's power of blowing heads up until everyone had heard your speech." Shaun calmly reminded him.

"So, I presume you are the King Desmond that has the locals so riled up?" Haytham asked.

"Fuck off, Haytham!" Desmond screeched at him.

"Well, the good king knows who I am and thinks himself to be my descendant. I should feel honored, I suppose." Upon hearing this, Desmond tossed a heavy book at Haytham. It hit Haytham on the head, a starburst of pain exploding. Haytham picked it up and stared at it in shock. _The Assassin's Creed Encyclopedia: From Assassin's Creed to Black Flag. _

"Some retard who thinks he looks badass wearing a taco on his head isn't worth using my fapple on again." Desmond snarled. "I shall deal with you the old fashioned way." Desmond withdrew two dual pistols and fired at Haytham. The shard of Eden that Haytham had taken from Connor in the previous chapter deflected the bullets.

Seemingly oblivious to the bullets being deflected, Desmond acted as if Haytham had been shot. "For good measure." Desmond noted as he materialized a big ass sword with his fapple powers. He charged with a wimpy battle cry at Haytham, and was simply tossed aside by the shard. Tumbling several feet, Desmond continued to act like he had slain Haytham.

"Victory is mine! Now, bring his body back to the city to show what happens when you dare oppose the King Desmond himself." Desmond remarked satisfyingly to himself.

"Um Desmond, he's standing right there. Completely alive after kicking your ass." Rebecca corrected him.

"Shut up, Rebecca. You saw him die." Desmond demanded as the three rode off. As soon as they were a safe distance from Haytham's sight, Desmond burst into a fountain of tears.

"Ah, cheer up Dezzy. You'll get plenty of more chances to kill another one of your ancestors for being much cooler than you ever were. In fact, reports have come in that Connor has been sighted leaping off giant buildings like a superman in my Twitter feed." Rebecca comforted him. Desmond continued crying. "CONNOR'S NOT COOL EITHER! HE'S NOT FUNNY OR SEXY LIKE EZIO! I WANT TO KILL EZIO! EZIO! EZIO! NOT FUCKING CONNOR OR HAYTHAM OR ALTAIR. I WANT TO KILL EZIO! I KEEP BRINGING IN THE WRONG FUCKING ANCESTORS INTO MY WORLD WAAAAAAA"

"So, will someone explain to me what a taco is?" Haytham called as they rode into the distance. Desmond, sobbing severely, used his fapple to bury the Templar in a pile of lousy Taco Bell value menu items.


	4. Build Up

"Well that was freeing. How you doing, old man?" Desmond leered as he reentered the torture chamber. He had left William there, bloodied and ear severed, when he had departed to take care of the rebels fighting the Assassin forces on the outskirts. William's blackened eyes glared with venom as he weakly opened them to face Desmond. Desmond ripped the duct tape from William's mouth, the sting making Will gasp in shock and panic. To his horror, he saw that Desmond was carrying a large gallon of gasoline with him.

"Desmond, you can kill me but I promise that someone will rise up to stop you. Your empire will collapse and everything will return to its right place." William spat in the face of King Desmond, getting it on his prized panda pelt hoodie.

"Just who do you suggest?" Desmond laughed rigorously. "The rebel groups, all fifty scattered factions of 'em, aren't gonna do much harm. Even without my interference, my trained Assassins crush them like the insignificant silver fish they are!"

"Haytham Kenway? Right now he's buried under a pile of crunchy and soft shell tacos, and with any luck by now he's suffocated. Aveline de Grandpre? Oh, she's too tired fucking me every other day to care about revolution. Subject 16? Public Enemy No. 1 is too busy weeping in his hidden corner about his failure to stop me the first time. Ezio hasn't even shown up yet, and when he does, I'll just crush his mind with the Fapple. So, dad, who do you suggest?" Desmond asked as he splashed the foul gasoline on his father.

"Connor and Altair." William gritted through with weak optimism.

"Are you trying to make me laugh, dad? Connor is the epitome of pathetic. He's naïve, easily manipulated, and so fucking indecisive. He'll be too busy deciding what color of hood to wear before he even considers stepping up against King Desmond. Altair? You could replace him with a log and no one would ever be able to tell the difference. And besides, they're not sexy or boner inducing like that hunk Ezio." Desmond struck a match against its box. A bright orange flame burned from the red tip of the wooden stick, and Desmond stuck his tongue out at William.

"This is for never saying 'I love you.' to me, dad." Desmond tossed the match on the gasoline-soaked William.

William was finally screaming again as the gluttonous flames consumed him.

Desmond didn't stick behind to watch his father burn. He had genders to fuck, prisoners to execute, sectors to construct, and most importantly attend to a little problem.

A problem in a white hood and tomahawk.

* * *

_It's true, that my long-running goal is to kill King Desmond, so that the people in this world might be free from tyranny. But there much that I have to do. Many citizens need help, from reuniting children with their mothers to killing their obnoxious tax collectors. Oppressors need to be put down, and as such I have spent the bulk of my day doing small tasks. Seeing all the time I have spent not focusing on my main task at hand makes wonder how I was ever able to accomplish what I have so far at home. Achilles once told me that the easiest way to defeat an empire is to bite at its foundations. Perhaps this is what I am doing to King Desmond. Maybe his end will come quick if I persist. Now, I hope that I can figure out what crack is. That beggar on the street corner where they sold the odd cheese and tomato sauce on circular bread dish seemed persistent in his demands. I do not like to disappoint, it makes people unhappy and as such makes me unhappy to see that they are unhappy because of me._

Connor was leaning back on a bench happily eating two ice cream cones a vendor had given him, as he took a well-deserved break. It had been quite a hectic day, and he felt that he could use a brief rest before returning to help the civilians of the city. Approaching him was a black-haired woman wearing headphones and a blonde Englishman in glasses. The two briefly stopped and glanced at Connor as he with joy licked mint chocolate chip into his mouth. With a big smile, Connor offered the two his cones. The two ignored him and continued on. Connor was briefly dejected he had failed to make new friends, but then he remembered it meant more ice cream for himself.

"Um, Rebecca, I'm pretty sure that was Connor on the bench back there." Shaun pointed out as they walked.

"Don't be a paranoid moron, Shaun. That was just some civilian on a bench, eating ice cream and minding his own business." Rebecca corrected him.

"Are you fucking blind? That was clearly Connor, are you oblivious to the fact that his robes are drenched with blood and there's an entire arsenal attached to him? The ice cream is just a disguise!" Shaun snapped at her.

"Well, if he was Connor, would he have offered the ice cream to us just like that? A deadly assassin would've stayed low instead of doing something risky like that. Admit it Shaun, you're just becoming a paranoid android." Rebecca replied.

"And how will you explain the blood-stained robes and weaponry?" Shaun shook his head.

"A member of the local Shakespearean theatre." Rebecca stated.

"Good god, I'm surrounded by idiots." Shaun facepalmed long and hard. "Well, we might as well set up our trap for Connor if we aren't just going to kill Connor while he's sitting on that bench right there."

"You mean the random guy eating ice cream sitting on the bench, not Connor sitting on the bench."

Shaun turned red, his head bulging. His eyes looked ready to pop from his sockets. Rebecca ignored him and took from his backpack several posters. She began applying them to nearby walls.

Connor perked up when he saw what was on the windows of General Store 006. It was a plain white sheet with a hastily scribbled 'King Desmond is this way' and arrow pointing directions on it. It was suspicious, to be certain, but it had to be legitimate. Why else would someone have hung it up on a trusty place like the general store if it wasn't?

As Connor strolled to the poster, the world around him started to disintegrate and reform itself. The open street around him was gone, as well as all human life. There was nothing around him, just darkness itself. Yet somehow he wasn't falling, even though he could see he stood on no solid ground. From the distance, a man approached him. In his arms was a long staff. With one raise, dazzling white light emanated like a spark and blasted Connor, knocking him several feet back.

"You've just made a serious mistake!" Connor snarled at his attacker.

"Not as serious as yours, you naïve blunderer." The man told him. He had an arrogant swagger to him as he walked in his heeled boots. He wore a highly ornate robe, trimmed with actual gold. His head was covered with an animal pelt, a black and white specimen Connor didn't recognize. But he didn't need the crown to realize who the man in front of him was.

"King Desmond."

"Let's not stand on ceremony here, shall we, Mr. Connor?"

"How do you know my name, you tyrannical bastard?" Connor scowled, ready to fight.

"I've been watching you since you were born, Connor. I know all your darkest secrets, your greatest failures, everything except when you lose your virginity. For that you never shall." King Desmond laughed.

"Curious. But no longer matters. For now, you shall die and these oppressed peoples will finally be free." Connor brandished his tomahawk and hidden knife, and charged at King Desmond.

* * *

Haytham, with a great heave of strength, finally forced off the last of the tacos. Desmond had sought to suffocate him, the overconfident madman. But you don't just bury the Templar Grand Master and expect him to stop breathing with years of training to prevent such a thing from happening. It would be a good feeling, when he would release his fingers from King Desmond's cold neck.

"Hello, Haytham." Hearing his name, the Templar swirled around.

"And who would you be? Ally or enemy? Choose your words wisely, boy." Haytham cocked his pistol at the new player.

"Call me Clay. And you've just been recruited to the Resistance."


	5. Connor Dies (Not Really)

Desmond conjured up two rockets and fired them at Connor. With a backflip, Connor leapt over the first rocket. As his flip completed the arc, his foot briefly rested on the rocket, using it as leverage as he leaped towards Desmond. The second rocket flew towards Connor, but Connor swatted it out of the sky with his tomahawk chop. Desmond's eyes popped in shock as Connor landed in front of him. His mouth dropped open as Connor's fist smashed into his face. His nose popped and Desmond felt several of his teeth fly loose.

"Impressive show, freakcase, but one blast from my Staff of Fapple will put you in your proper case." Desmond readied his weapon for another attack, but Connor wrenched it out of his arm. With a swing, he beat Desmond repeatedly with the ends of the staff. As Desmond staggered around dizzily, Connor broke the staff in two. He noticed on the end of one half a sticker that said Made in China.

"Hey, you broke my weapon! That's not fa-" Connor drove a forceful kick into Desmond's solar plexus. He was on Desmond again, pounding over and over. Desmond vomited more blood as multiple ribs went crack-a-lack. Weakly, he poked Connor. Unbalancing the Assassin, he meekly pronounced. "C-c-c-combo breaker, bitch!" He tried to slap Connor's face, but the Assassin grabbed Desmond's hand. Desmond cried out as Connor proceeded to snap all five of the fingers and then twist the hand out of proportion.

With a final heave, Connor lifted Desmond into the air by the arm and slammed him onto the ground. As Desmond's arm snapped, Connor thought he heard a disembodied voice call out a flawless victory.

"You're finished Desmond, and with you, your gross perversion of the Assassin Order."

"Gross perversion? What are you talking about? I'm just merely continuing the logical progression of our Brotherhood's ideals."

"Stop your tongue, Desmond. I am part of no Brotherhood that you are in. You harm innocents, censor freedom-"

"It's all up to interpretation, fucker. Harming innocents? Not innocents by our guidelines. Censoring freedom? Oh, we're not doing anything to harm the Assassin Order's freedom. Just the non-innocents."

"No matter what you may think, this ends now." Connor lifted his tomahawk, then noticed that Desmond was smiling.

"I actually had a backdoor open just in case you did turn out to be a capable fighter… my good friend Cesare taught me some things when the chips seem down… GUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRDS!" Desmond shrieked.

"No!" Connor swore in native tongue as thousands of guards that were apparently hiding behind pillars all popped out with their guns aimed.

With a motion from Desmond, the guards pulled the trigger. Not even an Assassin could react fast enough to escape the millions of bullets that slammed into Connor. Deadly shards tore into his flesh. But he staggered towards King Desmond, determined to live long enough to finish his business. King Desmond yelped, withdrawing his Hello Kitty adorned pistol. As the bullets reduced Connor to bloodied flesh on bones, the native Assassin let out one final war cry as he decapitated the King. But Connor's eyes filled with despair as the corpse crumbled in front of him, an illusion. Another part of the trap that he had fallen for. The real King strolled from the shadows, holding the real staff. Glowing brightly, he blasted Connor with radiant energy that scorched the remaining life in him away. Connor drew his final breath as he collapsed.

"That was fun. I can't believe I never tried creating an entire clone of myself with the Fapple before." Desmond remarked as the guards prepared a body bag.

"What shall we do with the corpse of Connor, Dezzy?" Rebecca asked. "Feed him to the hungry rats for dinner, perhaps?"

Desmond pondered as he watched the zipper cover up the last of what remained of Connor. Rebecca did offer a nice suggestion, but he had something better in mind. Connor had wanted to overthrow him, after all. What better torment for his enemy than to mold him into a faithful servant, killing on King Desmond's orders?

"Have the men send him to Research & Development. Tell Dr. Vidic to jumpstart our Cyborg Assassin program."

"We have a Cyborg Assassin program?"

"Oh, hell no. I just make this shit up on the spot and hope that you people know what I want. And if you don't… you know what happens."

"I'll be happy to inform him. Anything else, Dezzy?"

"Yeah, call Lucy. Tell her to make me a BBQ rib-eye steak sandwich on Dutch Crunch when I get back to my imperial bedroom. Remember, it better have four onion rings on top of the meat or it'll be another paddling for her undead ass."

Out of Desmond's earshot, Rebecca took out her phone. Dialing in a quick jab of numbers, she piped out as the receiver picked up. Hearing moaning from the other side, Rebecca wickedly requested in a sweet, deceptive tone: "Hey Lucy, Desmond's really hungry. Again, I know. Quit your grumbling, it's a real specific order. The usual BBQ steak, with two onion rings on both sides of the meat. What do you mean it sounds peculiar? Desmond demanded it. Alright, that's nice. And remember, if he asks why it's not up to specifications, just tell him that Shaun made you alter his order."


	6. Back to Haytham

Across a lonesome road, two companions rode side by side on horses. On top the black horse was the man who most knew as Subject 16. He led the way to their destination, he had been one of the first to arrive in this twisted reality. They were on a route he had traveled many times, filled with as much danger as it was monotony. The last thing Clay remembered before waking up in the torture chamber was him saying farewell to Desmond as the Animus deleted everything around them, confident that Desmond would do the right thing. It seemed, as he learned from his time here, that Desmond had not.

Following him was the rider on the red horse. He dressed in blues and in his weary face was the man who had done so much. Seen so much, yet had so much left in his life to accomplish. He had only recently arrived to the warped world, but he was slowly getting acquainted with it. Already, he had been swept into the battle to overthrow the tyrannical King Desmond. Haytham sighed as he plodded behind Clay, wondering if Connor had gotten himself killed yet. He should've acted more forcefully. It wasn't the right feeling in the world, to have lost both a father and a child in your life.

"We would've gotten to my safehouse by now if I brought the Cadillac. But hey, car might've freaked you out a bit. I picked some rides that are bit more appropriate given your world experience." Clay explained as he noticed the growing impatience in Haytham's eyes.

"Oh, you were worried that you would've frightened poor Haytham? Look boy, I've been all across the world. I've seen many things that would've driven the blood from your veins, leaving you a shriveled husk of skin. I think that whatever this car contraption you possess would do little to dent my composure." Haytham gritted at Clay.

"You seem to be pissed about something."

"My damn son Connor ran into the city all by himself. Planned on killing Desmond. I worry for his safety. It ticks away with every second we spend dawdling on this damn dusty road."

"I have spies everywhere in the city. Tell me what he looks like and I'll radio some of my contacts."

"Well, he's a big muscular boy with American native features. Most of the time he's annoyed or disgruntled, but every once in a while he has this happy puppy dog look glazed in his eyes. Quite frightening when that does happen, to be honest. He always carries a bow and tomahawk on him, incessantly twirling the latter around."

"That'll do." Clay took out an earpiece and spoke some commands into the receiver.

"This is supposed to be the headquarters of a resistance?" Haytham gapped dumbfounded at the ruined shack in front of them.

"Nope, this is _the _Resistance's headquarters. A Resistance is the name of one of the other resistance groups." Clay explained to him. Hope shattered in Haytham's mind. No wonder why Desmond hadn't been overthrown yet. The rebels were likely to be squabbling amongst themselves as well.

The headquarters appeared to be the apotheosis of everything that was dilapidated and pathetic. The roof had long collapsed in on itself, the windows shattered and doors hanging on hinges. Throughout the property were murders of crows, squawking and gazing at the two riders as they dismounted. It emphasized decay and failure. Haytham was certain that what remained of the damn foundation was to collapse at any moment.

"Oh, I know what you're thinking, big blue badass. Ooh my gerd, Clay's such a horrible rebel leader, he can't even afford a decent hideout! But that's where you are wrong you see. Something would be too obvious on the surface, but underground... that's where we can build and conspire in greater safety."

Clay was opening a hatch on the cluttered floor in the shack's interior. As Haytham leaned against what was left of a grandfather clock, Clay unveiled the beginnings of a staircase. Haytham's feelings brightened a bit. Secret underground lairs were a bit camp to think of, but perhaps this man actually had something to back up his claims of a resistance.

The basement did nothing to bolster his initial impressions of the "hideout." It was barer than a child's back, nothing but a few scattered boxes and two chairs built into the foundation. There was also a dirty refrigerator plugged into the wall, but Haytham only viewed it as a giant white box because REFRIGERATORS HADN'T BEEN INVENTED YET IN HIS TIME! Clay took out from the fridge two plastic bottles. Plopping down on the left seat, Haytham sighed as Clay handed him a bottle.

"I will be very, very irate if this turns to be some elaborate hoax. Your next actions ought to be considered wisely, Clay." Haytham pointed his pistol, finger ready on the trigger.

Clay took the seat next to him. Haytham pressed the pistol against his neck. Clay typed a few commands into the panel that was next to his chair. Metal bands slid out of slots. A chiming tone began to ring over and over.

"I'd buckle up if I were you."

"What are you talking abo-"

Haytham's question was abruptly cut short with a scream as suddenly the seats launched downwards at a breakneck speed.

* * *

Shaun gagged in disgust as a servant stumbled out of Desmond's royal chamber, cherry blood bursting out from a cut in his throat. "H-e-lllll.." and the negro collapsed. Rolling from his hands was a can of fruit soda. Stepping over the careening trails of blood, Shaun entered Desmond's chamber. Inside, he saw Desmond staring at the wall-length plasma uber-def TV with his hands somewhere Shaun hated to imagine.

"No love from Lucy tonight?" He noticed the pornography, where a fancily dressed red-head was forcing the clothes off of a submissive blonde male in rags. Shaun look away in disgust.

"Rotting skank is being all uptight again, got mad when I beat her for not making my mansteak sandwich to exact specifications. Serves her right. Have you seen this one? It's another in the _McCarthy Siblings_ series. This is vol. 14, _My Sister the Doctor_." Desmond remained focused on the onscreen action.

"Falafel apple serve you well today, Desmond?"

"Shut up Shaun, the proper name is fapple."

"Typical Desmond, twisting names to suit his own sophomoric sense of humor."

"Fuck you Shuan, seriously."

"I noticed you murdered another one of the help. They're getting harder to come by, y'know."

"Serves the coon-boy right. I wanted orange, bastard gave me lemon-lime." Desmond snarled as he reached a climax.

"Desmond, you cannot just murder your employees for not giving you the soda you want! We ran out of orange weeks ago."

"Then why didn't you run out and buy some?"

"Desmond, the entire city is out of orange soda. You brought all of it. Every last bottle and can. Even McDonald's fountains are depleted." Shaun protested.

"Fucking listen to me, Shaun. You… could've… made… more."

"Desmond, we ran out of all the ingredients. You made us use up all of the available orange soda components. If you didn't drink like fifty bottles a day…" Shaun ducked as Desmond tossed something white at him.

"Ran out of ingredients? Hah, that is not a valuable excuse! But I know something… a conspiracy is up. First Lucy makes my sandwich wrong, then the coon gives me lemon-lime when I wanted orange. Next, I have you here expecting me to believe that I've drunk all the orange soda in existence. And you know what's funny? Lucy told me that you gave her the order to use only two onion rings! Something's up, and you're behind it!"

"Desmond, have you forgotten that Rebecca handles your sandwich orders? She decided to play a prank on you, and I've already explained to you the soda. Damn it Desmond, don't you know how to think rationally?"

"Oh, blaming others for your handiwork? I'll see you demoted for that, worm! And in fact, I've already got an ideal candidate to take your spot."

"Desmond, didn't you originally call me to hear how the cyborg conversion treatment on Connor was going?"

"Shut the fuck up, Shaun. I don't even want to hear you breathing. You ruined my day, you orange-soda hating Hitler."

"As you wish."

And Shuan closed the doors to the chamber behind him. The sounds of Desmond's suspicious activities resumed. No wonder why the king rode a white horse. Pestilence, indeed. He took the moment to close the dead servant's eyes.

"Your wasting shall be avenged."

* * *

**Meanwhile, at Research and Development:**

"Don't you die on us now, dammit!"

"He's dying? Shit, after we spent so much time bringing him back to life!"

"His vital signs are going all over the place. Someone get Dr. Vidic!"

"Inject him with some more of that nightmare stuff, now!"

"What going on her-Oh my god, what is happening to mk. zero?"

"I think he's undergoing cardiac arrest, something went wrong with the conversion process!"

"What part of the process?"

"Everything was going along smoothly, until it came time to deprogram him. Then he started going crazy."

"Interesting. Must be a natural defense mechanism, to fight off any attempts to attack his interior through psychological means. Oh well, get him back in check or break him trying!"

"Alright, clear!"

"One shock, two shocks…"

"I don't care if it's risky! If this fails, King Desmond will have all of our heads!"

"No response, hit him again!"

"Is he getting any better?"

"Seems to have stabilized. But we wasted too much time trying to bring him back."

"What do you mean, blast it?"

"mk. zero's in some sort of coma, one where we can't reach him. Can't continue the deprogramming process. Far too risky."

"Oh no… can't this doctor have a normal lunchtime?"

"We can check again later…"

"Don't tell Desmond that any of this has happened. Last thing we need is him down here ranting, trying to decide who to hang."

"Understood, Dr. Vidic."

"If you need me, I'll be in my office ranting over the intercom."

"Let it go, we lost him."

"I ordered some pizza, we could share some to alleviate potential depression."

"Ooh, I want the pineapple."

The team of medical assistants and Dr. Warren Vidic departed to the lunch room.

The lights went out. In the shadows, Connor's vital signs were nothing but a faint bump in the darkness.


	7. Connor's Stupid Coma Dream

The templar in black fled across the frontier, and the assassin followed.

Through Northeastern canopies, the snow shaking from branches as the assassin flew from treetop to treetop never once touching the ground.

Through a choking underground cavern, bursting out into the surface for a breath of gratefully fresh air.

Dodging a bear as it swings its mighty paw, outrunning the behemoth as it bellows in rage.

Bitterly freezing nights greeted the assassin and the horse he rode died, but the assassin trudged on in his pursuit.

The templar never saw him crouching in the bushes, pulling back the string on the bow. He didn't notice the sound of the arrow soaring through air until the tip pierced into his neck. He tried to scream but all he managed was a dying gurgle. Gasping the final breath as the assassin raised the tomahawk high.

The assassin somberly cleaned the templar's blood from his blade. All that he had been through for such little pay-off. It reminded him of the way he sometimes felt about the journey he had taken. The sacrifices that he had endured for the little ground he made. Supporting General Washington only to have the man attempt to burn the assassin's village. Failure to negotiate, losing his childhood friend in the process. How he responded to the old man with only impatient rudeness, unaware of how much he meant in the heart of the old man until he too was gone. Yet in spite of everything, there was the voice that lingered in the dark corners of his mind. The one that kept him moving, even when all seemed lost.

He would eventually have to kill his father, if everything returned to the way things were. Before the King Desmond's world entered his life. When he still had things he could believe in. But there was little use dwelling on it now. The world had moved on.

But he had died, didn't he? Failure in the form of a swarm of bullets. He remembered the world going cold around him, feeling nothing but a brief satisfaction in knowing that his trials were over. That he soon was going to move on.

Yet somehow the assassin was still alive. Was this the afterlife that some of the colonists believed in? Was this a spirit world? Was this a dream?

He remembers his eyes dimly peeled in a brightly-lit room, people in masked suits standing over him. There was the whirl and hum of machinery, things were being put into and taken out of him. He felt every burst of pain as the knife slit skin, but he couldn't scream nor move. They had tried to put something in his head, but he remembered hearing panic as his world went dark.

It was as if he were living, but only through someone else's eyes. He was merely along for the ride. To sit back and watch as everything played out for him. The assassin smiled sadly. Surrounded by so much and yet he felt as lonely as always.

The assassin lingered in his forlorn backseat and watched as the world around him moved on. With a mild chill, the assassin realized that he was watching a story of his life. But these were things that he didn't remember happening. Perhaps these were the things that were to have happened if he hadn't died by King Desmond's hand or even more ludicrous, entirely new worlds like the one he had died in.

* * *

Something has gone horribly wrong in this world. Everything has changed, a rulebook torn and burnt before being rewritten. He never wandered from his village when he embarked on the path to manhood, never reached the villa on the hill where he met the old man. He was never swept into the war between the secret brotherhoods. He would never meet his father, never meet the men who would become immortalized as the founding fathers, he would never have the fateful encounter in the woods.

He never returned to find the village set ablaze. Never forced to watch his mother burn as the villagers dragged him away. Never to hear her final words, which he had repeated to himself many nights after her death over and over again until he could force himself to fall asleep. Perhaps, things would've worked out in this world, but tragedy worked its course like pieces of a puzzle falling into place.

The blood of the foreigners flowed within the boy's veins. Yet, with the support of his mother and fellow villagers, he never felt alone. In the passage of time, he grew from a boy into an adult. A hunter and pride of the village, the man brought back many a skin in the winter-time. His proudest kill of all was immortalized as the hood he wore.

The revolution came and went, with the colonies gaining their independence. The commander would become the leader of this new nation, but it would soon become apparent that they had merely traded the whip of one tyrant for another. The president did not run things smoothly. He still was as ever full of doubt regarding his own abilities and even more so with the future of the Americas without him. But something changed that, the mysterious artifacts that he had uncovered. The apple and the scepter. They granted him power, they bolstered his confidence, and they let him lead the nation. He realized that he couldn't risk what he had built crumble by passing on the mantle. The eight years came and went, but George Washington did not end his presidency.

He strangled John Adams on the night before he made his announcement. The inauguration of King Washington, the first king of the United States of America. The apple made things easy. Where his fellow founding fathers would've protested, they now obeyed to his every whim. He found Generals Arnold and Putnam to serve by his side, Benjamin Franklin and others to watch over the cities. Those who managed to resist like Thomas and Samuel were forced into hiding, conspiring with the redcoats they had sought to drive out.

The people wouldn't stand for this, but he silenced them with the reformed Continental Army. They slaughtered populations of entire towns, scorching the frontier land. He turned his eyes to new lands in the west, north, and south. The bluecoats disassembled the southern American empires and forced the native insects further west. The Quebec territory fit nicely in his pockets, and soon enough Washington would possess the entirety of Canada.

The man in the wolf hood knew little of all this, only that the colonists were stirring up more trouble. He knew that his mother planned on running off and stopping Washington, and he had insisted on coming with her. She woke him from his slumber one morning, and they had stumbled on a fellow native being assaulted by bluecoats. She explained that the King was moving in on the lands, killing everybody. His mother sadly informed the man of her failure to steal the King's objects of power.

Events ticked as they led to the inevitable. The king learned of the village where the man and his mother lived, and launched an all-out assault. The man in the wolf hood fought back furiously against the waves of bluecoats but from the corner of his eyes he saw his mother make a final, desperate stand against the king. She was dead in seconds, and for the first time in this reality, Ratonhnhake:ton finally cried for his mother.

The assassin moved on. He had no desire to observe what happened next.

* * *

He went through more brief lives, some tragic and some heroic. In some, he went out fighting to protect his family and the old man's legacy. He was celebrated in those with a grandiose funeral where his next of kin made promises to honor his own legacy. Next of kin, the assassin thought. The thought of children haunted him. He wasn't ready to be a parent, not when he had so many issues regarding his family.

In other worlds, he went mad with power. Driven off the cliff and corrupted. The weight of repressing the traumas and emotions he felt finally proved to be too much to contain. In these worlds both Connor the assassin and Ratonhnhake:ton the warrior died. Replaced by something darker, the ultimate evil. It chilled the assassin's blood as he witnessed these events, repulsed that there existed a version of him capable of such brutality.

At last he stumbled upon a world. A world without the deception and conspiracies he knew. A world where the war fought in shadows between viewpoints never existed. Where those who came before never surfaced. Achilles had told him that life was not a fairy tale, that there would be no happy ending. But here, perhaps, the Kenway bloodline had found one.

Some things had stayed the same in this world. He had still been born Ratonhnhake:ton to a Haytham and Kaniehtiio, but already the assassin noticed the differences in this world. It was a new era far from the revolution-scathed colonies that he was used to. It was no real shock as he had already experience lives of other Connors in other eras than his own. But this was the farthest that he had walked so far. This world reminded him of King Desmond's reality, with its unusual aesthetics and technology. Perhaps King Desmond had come from a similar time period.

The year was 2013.

* * *

It was an overcast morning, a thick sheet of clouds hanging above the Seattle skyline. Haytham Kenway took a sip from his foam coffee cup as the black Ferrari turned onto the highway, speeding away from the city towards the airport. Ziio sat the side of the car opposite him, reading a comic book for some godforsaken reason. Haytham wouldn't be surprised if it happened to be another one of Connor's damn comics. Haytham was never too keen on the damn things, but Ziio adored her son's so-called "literary" accomplishments. They were in the back of the car, Haytham's chauffeur Johnson doing all the driving for them.

He was born in the midst of the 60s to a womanizing Edward Kenway and his mother Tessa. Through the circumstances of his birth, he was both a citizen of the United States and the United Kingdom. For ten years he lived in America but Tessa had moved the family back to the UK after Edward's disappearance in the line of duty at Vietnam. There, he had spent the rest of his childhood. He had met some of his earliest business associates there, but to little of his personal regret, both Reginald and Braddock had long been ousted from the corporation.

When he was in the early throes of adulthood, Haytham had returned to his place of birth. He started out where it had originally begun, on the streets of Boston but eventually he moved west. He had a desire to see the country, and along the way he met Ziio. She was a teacher from a reservation with greater ambitions for her life, and she followed Haytham in his road trip. It was a stereotypical situation, but the two gradually married and had a child. She called him Ratonhnhake:ton. Haytham, unwilling to even try to pronounce the name, had one of his trusted aides name him Connor. The same trusted aide who would stab Haytham's corporation in the back and form his own. That bastard Achilles Davenport.

To the business world, Haytham was the devious mastermind that headed the Templar Corporation. Haytham Kenway, the Machiavellian octopus that had spread its tentacles to every quadrant of the business world and absorbed the weak into his fold by the dozen every day. But the business world never saw Haytham's other side. The family man. In spite of the difficulties that had cropped up during Connor's conflicted teenage years or when Ziio had concerns about the morality of Haytham's work, Haytham dearly loved his wife and child. He considered it a wondrous miracle that the three had stuck together when they were raising Connor.

Haytham and Ziio had conflicting views on Connor's future. Haytham wanted Connor to follow in his footsteps, take over Templar corp. when he grew up.

"_Just picture it, Connor! A house even bigger than the one we have now. A two-story car garage. Gold-flaked ice cream sundaes and caviar at every dinner. You'll not only be the richest, but most powerful native American in the world. Or if you can't, just think of yourself as a lawyer or doctor. A very rich and powerful doctor."_

Ziio had emphasized the path of freedom in Connor's future. She had insisted that their boy be allowed to choose his own path in life. Haytham respected his wife too damn much to crush her hopes like that, so he allowed Connor to embark on the path that led him to the present. A married father of two who drew and wrote picture books for a living. Not the future that Haytham had envisioned, but somehow, Haytham was a bit proud of his son. Just a bit.

"Put on some damn music will you, Johnson?" Upon Haytham's request, the chauffeur popped in Haytham's favorite opera CD.

"What do you mean Hickey was caught drunk in a public pool groping middle school girls? Damn it Charles, smooth the situation over before it becomes an even larger embarrassment to the company. Get Hickey out of court? No, let him stay there and face his charges. Fire him from the company. Drunk bastard never was good at the job I gave him anyway."

Ziio looked uneasily at Haytham. They were standing right in front of Connor's suburban house, but Haytham was still arguing with one of his employees on his cell. She wondered if her son had noticed their arrival.

"What do you mean we can't replace Hickey? I know that you're partial to the lout, Charles, but I already have in my office a list of twenty names all perfectly capable of taking his position in the company. I recommend you look over it Charles. Don't call me again on this number. I want to spend the next week with the boy and the grandkids, not listen to you incompetent tramps tarnish the company's foundations. Do it and you may be next in joining Hickey, Charles."

Haytham folded the cell phone and sighed.

"Well, let's not keep Connor waiting, shall we? You can knock, Ziio."

* * *

Connor stared at the word document on his screen, typing up the script for the two final issues of his breakout success. It was an enjoyable six years, in all certainty, but Connor was glad that he finally had the opportunity to fully pursue the other tales that he wanted to tell. He had four entire sketchbooks filled with ideas that had never seen the grace of print… yet. It was true that Connor had managed to get some other books published, but they were always known as Connor Kenway's other works, never receiving the attention that this one had gotten.

In the background, he could hear his ten-year old daughter Helena Kenway greeting someone eagerly.

"Hello, Connor." He felt a strong hand clamp down on his shoulder.

"Dad."

"Still working on your cowboy story, I see? Your mother is starting to wonder if your outlaw will ever find his redemption, given all the time you've devoted to the wonders of ranch work so far."

"He will find it, but not in a way that most would think. There's this big, powerful moment that I've kept in my head ever since I managed to get the first issue published. People won't be expecting it, might even hate it. But it's the only way I see fit to end the story. Compromise is what storytellers often insist upon, and so I was forced to learn it. But different that most, I think I have."

"Enough with the Yoda talk, son. You act as though you have some right to do so, as if you WERE the one that saw the complete trilogy in its original release." Haytham jokingly remarked to Connor.

"What about the new movie-" Haytham proceeded to cut Connor off before he could finish. It was a peeve of Connor's when his father did that, but he decided not to be rude. After all, his father didn't have to visit him and the kids.

"As far as I'm concerned, those were made solely to cash off of nostalgic appeal and indoctrinate a whole new generation of fanboys. The too long, didn't read version as your kids say: I don't give a fuck, Connor. Star Wars criticisms aside, Connor, what are you going to do now that your cowboy story is over?"

"Hmm… that's a bit of a tough question. I have sketchbooks just full of ideas, but it's always a rough decision picking which one gets developed into a full story. Then you have all the big boys like DC trying to get me on board. You know, my son actually suggested that I make a sequel to my Western where the outlaw fights zombies? Ludicrous idea, but might make a decent Halloween or April Fool's joke. Why the sudden interest in my work, dad?"

"I have no intention of caressing your cheek and saying I was wrong. I will not weep, and wonder what might have been. I'm sure you understand."

Connor realized, a bit irritated, that Haytham was referring to his old dream of Connor taking over the Templar Corporation.

"Still, I'm proud of you in a way. You have shown great conviction, strength and courage in the path you took in your life. All noble qualities. I should've started reading your picture books a long time ago."

"Really, dad?"

"For once, I am being completely honest. I blame your mother. She's the one who weaned me onto them."

"Really?"

"No, I'm just fucking with you, son."

After a moment of forced silence, Connor and Haytham burst into a hysterical fit of laughter.

* * *

The father and son strolled from the downtown parking garage to a local drinking establishment. Connor frequently visited this pub by himself, it was called Chapeau's. He knew the owner well enough to get free drinks once a month. Connor opted for a simple pair of jeans and a black leather jacket, but Haytham had gone with him decked out in his favorite suit and tie. In a way, the contrast in fashion was a symbolic testament to the differences between the father and son.

"I wish that your wife would've let your mother prepare dinner tonight. I want to live long enough to see the grandkids graduate high school, and Flavia's specialty pesto certainly isn't helping." Haytham shook his head.

"What do you expect, given Papa Auditore's alleged mob ties? It's become a sort of running joke in the community that instead of using oil to cook, Flavia uses poison."

"Tonight's meal was evidence enough. I don't think that your wife quite approves of me." Haytham took a sip of his beer, choking it down. He would've asked for tea, but just this one time he decided to not embarrass his son. With a shudder, Haytham recalled that one incident when Hickey came over to dinner.

"She doesn't like you big corporate types. Always rants on about you people taking over our rights and controlling the government. It's only a miracle that her father, died suspiciously long before I could meet him. Who knows how many questions I would've asked him about the location of Duccio's body. That aside, she doesn't want you or mother staying inside the house during your stay. Claims you'll both be bad influences on Helena and Damien. Truly, we would've made quite the dysfunctional family."

"Well then, me and your mother will just have to disprove her false allegations, shouldn't we?"

"There's a nice state reserve only a short drive away from here. The seals are birthing pups at this time of year, the kids would probably like to see that. All of us could go, and maybe we can finally prove to my stubborn wife that you aren't as evil as makes you out to be."

"Perfect. A toast to the future, Connor?" Haytham raised his glass.

"Cheers, dad."

As the beer mugs touched, the world slowed down. It was like a freeze frame shot, but Connor could still move freely. Everything else was frozen in place. The loving smile on his father's face. The policeman outside writing down the license numbers of cars parked in the disabled zone. Even the single droplets of beer in the air. Curiously, Connor felt one of them. Solid as rock.

"What the hell?" Connor wondered out loud. Then he remembered. Ah yes, the duel at Fort George. About to kill his father before the strange light brought them to a new reality. King Desmond's world. He remembered being killed by Desmond's staff and being trapped in limbo as he floated around a dimly lit tunnel. Connor remembered viewing lives of other Connors in other realities. He remembered the assassin.

"Have you figured it out yet, sweetie?"

Connor turned around. Standing in the doorway of Chapeau's was a statuesque lady with flowing black hair. Her skin was a faint white, her eyes darkened with a layer or two of makeup. Her heels were near transparent, creating an optical illusion of floating as she walked towards him. She wore the black clothes of a waitress. There was an Italian bistro across the street, it was likely she was employed there. The nametag on the right side of her chest read: Hello, My Name is June.

"It's a dream-state of some sort. That much I know. I should be dead, yet it feels completely real as I live through the lives of Connors that aren't me."

"I guess I should tell you the truth. Right now, you're lying strapped to an operating table in one of Desmond's buildings in a comatose state. They made some operations on you, changed you to suit their purposes. But if you should wake up, Connor, you could be a big hero. Turn it against them…"

"How do I wake up? How I stop Desmond? How do I restore everything to the way it was? Return it to normal: myself, my father, the Revolution, everything." Connor demanded as she smiled at him.

"Waking up is simple, sweetie. Just put it against your head and pull the trigger. What you do then requires you to improvise a bit."

June continued to smile, as she handed Connor a pistol. It felt heavy and loaded in his hands.

"Unfortunately, not even I know how to defeat King Desmond. In my original plan, I would've easily blasted his presence from existence. But you see, he's grown too powerful, even for me. Somehow, he's controlling reality. Right now, he could be watching the two of us."

Connor gripped the pistol.

"It doesn't matter. I will beat him. I will restore everything to the way it was."

"But Connor, do you really want to go back to your old life? Think about it, Connor. Mommy's dead, best friend's dead, fatherly figure dead, daddy wants you dead. Everyone you think you can trust like Washington just betrays you in the end. You'll meet nothing but disappointment and defeat your entire life but you'll just take more and more of the abuse until eventually your body just gives out. Such an unhappy ending, Connor. Do you want that?" June pleaded with him.

"I know that if I can get my hands on King Desmond's source of power, maybe I could use it to rewrite reality like he did. Make it so that this world's Connor has always been the Connor I am. No more Assassins, no more Templars, no more of the misery that has haunted me. But it doesn't feel right…" Connor contemplated as he looked the gun over.

"Your destiny doesn't have to be set in stone, Connor. You can make the change, you deserve the happy ending. Out of the five Assassins, you were my favorite, Connor." June stroked his cheek. She was getting invasively close to him now. Connor remembered her from somewhere, but which memory exactly?

"I'm not sure…" She grasped his gun-wielding arm, moving it upwards. His finger was pushing back against the trigger. The safety was off.

"Oh, the classic indecision. Just promise me one thing, Connor. If you do choose the happy ending, you'll give me a place in your world. Maybe replace that paranoid Auditore bitch with me…"

A loud bang. Connor's eardrums hurt. He was still in this reality, the world frozen around him.

One final word from June.

"Seek out Lincoln… he can help…"

June slumped to the ground, blood starting to seep from a hole in her back. Another dark-haired waitress with the floating heels. She had a large magnum in her palm, her nametag read Minnie. She spat on June's body, kicking it twice.

"She was about to get to you Connor. She was extremely close in getting you to do what she wanted."

"What the fuck? You… what… she's dead. You fucking maniac."

"She couldn't be trusted, Connor. She's a manipulative witch who cares about her own agenda. She was just going to use you to eliminate Desmond, and dispose of you like she's done with everyone else that's ever met her. Don't dare pull that trigger, Connor."

"Why not? She told it would wake me up, and given that this is a dream, it does make sense." Connor's finger tightened.

"She didn't tell you, did she? That your mind has been fragmented after all the little tests and modifications King Desmond's followers did to your pitiful cadaver? That waking up will result in a near perfect probability of schizophrenic madness as your different selves all vie for control?"

"This all sounds very very absurd. As if some hack writer wrote his characters into a preposterous situation and was just tossing on more brainless developments to further his idiotic plot." Connor turned away from Minnie and winked.

"There's a compromise out of this. Here, take this pill. Those who came before called it the Deus Ex Machina." Minnie offered Connor a small blue pill.

"And what will happen if I take this?" Connor cautiously looked the pill over.

"You die, King Desmond's tyranny goes on. But you'll be placed in a pocket reality. One virtually identical to the one from which you came. But it will diverge. We can give you the happy ending that your real life wouldn't allow. It'll be perfect, Connor. Just take the pill."

"I can't do that. Live a false life while King Desmond continues to oppress people in the real life? June told me one thing before you shot her in the back. That the future doesn't have to be set in stone. That we have the power to alter the course of the destiny. If my fall from grace, just one man, is the price that must be paid for the liberation of millions…I shall take that risk."

Minnie grew quite irate. She began ranting at Connor.

"Always the naïve simpleton! You think that it will be that simple? You are mad to even dream of spending another minute in Desmond's warped reality over the Garden of Eden that I offer you! I gave you salvation and you turned it down in favor of insanity. But that's just a setback. I'll force feed you that pill!"

Minnie lunged at Connor.

**Objective Obtained: Assassinate Minnie**

Minnie was a bit of an idiot. After all, Connor's pistol had more than one bullet and it was loaded.

Connor shot her twice in the belly.

Minnie collapsed. With her dying breaths:

"If only you learned to obey orders like a real assassin. Like that hunk Ezio Auditore. He did whatever we asked of him without a second thought. But you… bastard… half-breed. You'd rather run off half cocked out of a misplaced since of morality. I AM THE ONE WHO CAME BEFORE! YOUR DISGUSTING BREED WERE OUR SLAVES! WHAT GIVES YOU THE RIGHT FOR FREEWILL?"

"A man chooses, a slave obeys." Connor tore off one of Minnie's legs as he berated her in his super duper Mohawk language. She screamed as he yanked the limb from the rest of her flesh.

"You've lost all sense of reality. You're suffering from a bad case of insanity, Connor. But that's no problem… I can still help you. Just take... the blue…"

"I learned of the world differently. My mother showed me something as the village burned around us and the rooftop crushed her in front of me. My father showed me something as I stabbed him the neck and my robes were stained with his blood. The founding fathers showed me something when they fought for freedom only to deny it to the blacks and natives. They taught me that the world only makes sense when you force it to. And the time for sanity has long passed."

"M.. m…ercy! Please…"

But Connor didn't listen to Minnie's pleas as he proceeded to beat Minnie to death with her own leg. Minnie's screaming was loud at first, but it ceased as he continued to bludgeon her. Minnie's eyes looked up at him in desperation, then rolled backwards. She weakly tried to grab at her leg, but she had no strength left. Her remaining foot is wildly kicking, blood was pouring from the corners of her mouth. Connor briefly embedded the tip of her heel in Minnie's skull, before pulling it out to a horrendous hissing noise. He struck her again, splitting her face in two. Her arms were flailing, as her geysers of blood stained Connor's jacket. A section of Minnie's brain fell, pink and shiny. One of her eyes was dangling from its socket, the other was blinking on and off. What was left of her mouth was nothing but a jumble of meat and teeth. Her tongue hung over what remained of the jawbone.

Connor dropped the leg. He gapped in horror, shocked at the brutality he was capable of.

"Admit it." A voice inside his head. "You enjoyed that as much as I did."

"I didn't have to do this… one simple shot would've sufficed." Connor was picking up the pistol. He had dropped it in his murderous frenzy.

"And that is what will always separate the two of us. You're hindered by compassion, morality, and other pathetic traits of humanity. But I am something different. I am the part of you that sees the world for what it is. The one that gets the job done. The one that will get this job done."

Connor gave one last look at Minnie's body.

"Serves you right, you crazed cow." He wasn't sure who was speaking now.

It was over, the age of Connor as the manipulated errand boy. He would serve no one from here on out. Not his father, not Washington, he was his own now. He controlled his destiny. With luck, he would be able to use this Lincoln June had mentioned to further his own agenda.

Connor pulled the trigger. His body slumped forward, the pistol in his hands smoking. The world around him returned to motion. People were screaming as they woke up to the grisly carnage around them.

"Connor! No!" Haytham cradled the dead body of his son as the bartender was dialing the police. How the fuck could this have happened? Where did the other bodies come from? The two were just drinking. No time had passed. Not even a second. But Connor was dead. His own son. The child that had kept the corporation from fully taking over Haytham's life. The child that kept a flicker of humanity burning in the elder Kenway. But now, Connor was dead. For no reason at all...

Connor woke up.


	8. Haytham Padding Chapter

Haytham shakily stumbled out of his chair as the elevator completed its hectic descent to the heart of this Clay individual's resistance group. He panted for breath, as the idiot Clay continued to whoop wildly. It was as if he enjoyed the tumultuous downfall.

"You mad bastard…"

"I'd hate to see what would happen if you ever rode one of those roller coasters at the old county fair. Roller coasters… those were the days…" Clay fondly remembered as he laughed at Haytham's displeasure. He took some bottles that he had been holding on their descent downwards.

"Root beer?" He offered. Before Haytham could reply to Clay's offer, Clay pointed the bottle at Haytham and popped off the cap. The stream of brown liquid fizzed at a great velocity and sprayed Haytham all over. Stained and dripping wet with caffeine, carbon, and high fructose corn syrup Haytham reached and grabbed Clay's neck. Shaking him back and forth, Haytham demanded

"What is the meaning of this tomfoolery?"

Clay struggled for breath, clawing off Haytham's hands. Panting, he sarcastically choked to the templar:

"Whassmatter wit you, 'aysum? Don't you know what a hazing ritual is?"

"Dare pull such another act on me, Clay, and I will see to it that you will die the most agonizing manner possible. We'll start with the eyes, graduate to the nose, and who knows what places we'll visit from there?"

"Um, sure. So, you want to see the actual hideout now? I mean, we spent the entirety of the previous chapter on my elevator ride. I imagine you'd appreciate just how complex my operations truly are."

Clay pushed open the door in front of them, which led to a superbly vast cavern with the makings of a rebellion. All the segments of the resistance hideout were separated to various sections of the underground. There was an armory loaded with potentially enough firepower to take on King Desmond. There were several barracks separated into male, female, and co-ed sections. There was a mess hall, as well as outlets foreign to Haytham called McDonald's and Starbucks. There was a training ground. A series of loudspeakers and minecart rails connected the entire system.

Clay had his own section of the underground cut out. It consisted of his private bedroom and eatery, plus a public section where he held conferences with his high-up officers. In the conference hall was a small ball and a big ass computer screen that had a lot of vital information. It was in said conference hall that Clay and Haytham were conferring now. Clay had called in a band to play live music while he chatted with Haytham at the miniature bar.

The band rattled away on their instruments while the red-head singer in heels crooned away. _Come in here, dear boy, have a cigar. You're gonna go far, you're gonna fly high, you're never gonna die._

The unfamiliarity of the musical style and lyrics unnerved Haytham. Clay seemed to be enjoying all of it. He had ordered cheeseburgers from the barkeep while they talked.

"No, no, no, Haytham. You are doing it completely wrong. You do not eat cheeseburgers like that. Quit cutting them up with that knife and eating the components individually with a fork. Do it like this, pick it up with both hands. Make sure your thumbs are on to- No, Haytham. You do not take it apart and eat it piece by piece. Put it in your mouth like this... and take a bite. See? Is it so hard? What? Stop looking at me like that."

"I suppose that our lunchtime troubles would've been avoided if you had just sent me a regular slab of meat instead of this ghastly concoction. Who in their right mind would find this overcooked hunk of meat appetizing?"

"The cheeseburger is America, Haytham. And when you insult the cheeseburger, you are insulting America. And the George W would be very upset to you insult America."

"W? As in Washington?" Haytham inquired as he pushed the revolting plate away.

"Oh well, more for me I guess. Nah, that's not the Washington you know. It's a different George W, and he took over the resistance group called the Texas Rangers. But he had a mind the size of a peanut, aka a piss poor leader, and they were all rounded up in their initial assault on Desmond's palace about a year ago. He's either dead or mutated into something far worse by their experiments by now."

The band switched tunes. The singer continued to belt out words that Haytham did not recognize. Like the singer delivered lyrics which Haytham interpreted as just a whole bunch of symbolic nonsense (Connor and the old man probably would've loved it. Typical Assassin filth). _Revolving doors, what have I done? Someone on the TV, a tepid loss. Revolving doors, what will I become?_

"I suppose you're wondering how I got myself involved with this mess regarding King Desmond."

"Not really. I just want to find out how to get back to my own time, maybe find and reconcile with my son. But the latter's proven itself quite problematic, and I'll probably just end up killing him."

"Well fuck your interests, Haytham. We used to be part of the same clubhouse. Me and Desmond. Only I died long before he learned of my existence. My memory of my time alive is kinda shaky cause Abstergo fucked me up real good. All the time I spent in the machine. I remember I killed myself and I left messages for him. The girl betrayed us. The girl he's banging right now. I left messages in both the machine and the offices for him to find. To help him beat them and save the world. But…" All this came as incoherent rambling to Haytham, who proceeded to smack Clay on the back.

"Goddamn you, make some bloody sense."

"Um… let me gather my thoughts. After my death my consciousness was preserved by the machine, was a bit of a schizoid. Then suddenly I was sane again when I helped him escape the machine and my voice had changed too. I was baffled by it but I never bothered asking him about it. He was too busy whining about his own problems to care about mine. Then I remember finally tasting freedom as I was deleted from the machine. We were assassins, the two of us. But when he brought me back to life here, he had changed. He was royally fucked up, moreso than I ever was."

"You're an assassin, eh? And no reservations about working with me? I didn't get this blade through your cult's indoctrination."

"I know who you are, Haytham Kenway. Me and Desmond shared a similar bloodline. We were bound to relive a few memories of the same ancestors at some point. But in this time of tyranny, it no longer matters who's an assassin or templar. All that matters is that someone has to stop Desmond."

"The resistance groups, yours included, sure aren't anything good enough for that to happen soon."

"Shut up."

"Don't deny the truth, Clay. Isn't that why you Assassins became the proponents of global anarchy originally?"

"Let me change the subject. How about we discuss who we're going to have to kill or align ourselves with to overthrow the King?"

"I'd rather have something mildly educational to bore me than your pitiful sob stories, Clay."

Clay took out a small remote control, hitting a few buttons. The big-ass computer screen popped up, and the beaming image of King Desmond filled the screen. An overly dramatic voice began to play. Haytham started to regret his decision.

**King Desmond **_Ah, good 'ol King Desmond. Once upon a time, where everything was innocent and people had meals of ice cream for dinner, the Assassins thought that Desmond was the one that could prevent the 2012 catastrophe. He had a unique bloodline comprised of several famous Assassins (as well as a few Templars) and a hella ton of First Civilization DNA. Through a convoluted chain of events, Desmond ended up sacrificing himself for the good of mankind to stop the machinations of First Civilization being Juno. At least that was what we thought. Now he's become a mad tyrant, convinced that everything we've been through was just the manipulation of a video game plot. He's kinda mad about the last part, and he apparently possesses the power to reshape reality now. Stupid, I know, but you try writing a better synopsis. _

_Anyways, Desmond has built himself a rather mighty empire and connections dedicated to terrorizing the frail and innocent. It's likely that we'll have to take them out, one by one, as well. _

**Rebecca Crane: **_One of Desmond's chief generals, she handles the overall Tech & Research development of Desmond's empire. _

**Shaun Hastings: **_Desmond's other big general, Shaun here acts as the chronicler of Desmondtopia's history and as the chief strategist of Assassin Army. Recently though, our spies have reported him having more than just a few spats with his big boss. We could use this to our advantage, potentially recruit a new ally too._

**Dr. Warren Vidic: **_He works hours as the figurehead of the Tech & Research. This means standing around drinking coffee and swearing a lot. Rebecca does all the work for him. Why Desmond didn't just give her the job in the first place is beyond me. Maybe he wishes to make Vidic suffer. For what Vidic did to him. But not for what Vidic did to me._

**Lucy Stillman: **_Now, I'm not exactly sure what Lucy's role in Desmond's empire is. She's supposed to be dead, even in this universe. But our spies have reported many cases of Desmond ordering Lucy to make his sandwiches. For all we know, she could just be his trophy wife. But we're still going to kill her regardless of her importance. Just to get at him. This plan's not foolproof. We have no way to gauge how much Lucy means to Desmond. Especially when you look at his harem of lovers. Our Plan B consists of killing the harem as well. They'll be missed, certainly.  
_

_And then there's…_

The voiceover and images just droned on and on. Clay looked at the screen, beaming in pride. Then he noticed Haytham slumped over, having long fallen asleep.


	9. Desmond Owns A Cardboard Cutout Altair

"I see that you are finally awake, Connor. No doubt you have plenty of questions what we did to you and what's going to happen to you." The bearded idiot in front of him was rambling. Already, the voices in Connor's were arguing over what to do with the man. Ratonhnhake:ton wanted to grab the man's beard and tear the skin from his face, let him die and be done with. A more diplomatic voice in Connor's mind argued in favor of letting the man live a little longer. Was this the madness that Minnie had promised him?

"You see, King Desmond ordered a little series of tests to be run on you. You're going to be the first in our line of cyborg assassins. Mk. Zero, the prototype. Codenamed The Wolf. You can see our nice little adjustments if you just look down right now."

"Bastards… what did you do to me?" Connor snarled as he saw what had replaced his lower body and arms.

"We made a couple of adjustments to you Connor. Human augmentation is quite the risky business, and you made the ideal candidate. It's such a fine line, blurring the difference between men and machine. No one would've missed you if something went wrong."

"I'm a robot?" The modern voice speaking as Connor looked over his metallic hands. They were so fake, such a mockery of human flesh, yet he felt immense power radiating from these attachments.

"Very much more so than a man, I'm not afraid to tell. We even took out your old eyes, gave you new ones." One of the bearded idiot's assistants handed Connor a mirror.

Connor looked himself over. "What are those…?" He mumbled as he felt over the rivet-like planks that had been built in the back of his neck. To his shock, the color of his pupils had changed. They were now red. Blood-red.

"Special eyes, Connor. To complement and improve your already lethal Assassin abilities. And now, it's time we activated their data interface."

Monochrome words appeared in the foreground of Connor's vision.

_Activating data scanner…_

_Activating com-links…_

_Activating database…_

and other lines of text.

"Look at me, Connor. What do you see?" Connor peered at the bearded idiot. Instantly, a part of his eyes locked onto the bearded idiot. It scanned the idiot for a few seconds, a red meter filling up as Connor did so. When the meter filled, another small bit of text popped up in his vision.

**Warren Vidic – access database file.**

Connor declined to do so. He already had enough enmity for this bearded idiot that he felt no need for to accelerate his hatred by actually learning about this man.

"Now, you see, Connor… before we could implement the complete process you happened to have your little coma."

"What's the problem with that? This cyborg treatment of yours seem to be working perfectly…" Connor was scanning the built-in weapons of his body in his mind. Psionic-energy based hidden blades, built-in electroshock arms, grappling hookblade, and so on. All of it seemed like some immature kid's wet fantasy. Fitting for a man of King Desmond's caliber.

"Well, you see… King Desmond personally requested that you be brainwashed and tortured into total subservience. Well, during our attempts to do so you had that coma which made implementing the brainwashing a pain. If you would so kindly go with us, back to the operating room, where we'll cut out all your memories and implant the new ones Desmond has prepared…"

"You'd be quite mad to think that I would voluntarily return to your experimentations… much less so now that I found out that Desmond wishes for me to be his little guard dog on a leash. Is that why he had me brought back to life? His own special form of torture?"

"Ah yes, he has a specific hatred for you. He's always been a big fanboy of his other ancestor, Ezio Auditore, to the point of discrediting everyone else in the bloodline. Especially you and that other guy. Altaik whathisname. Now, just let Billy and Joel take you back to the operating table. It'll be over quicker than you know…" The bearded idiot continued to ramble.

"Yes, it'll be over quicker than I know…which means the time it will take for me to kill you all."

"Um, wha-"

Connor rose to his feet. With the strength of a bear, he shoved a nearby Subway footlong (Joel's lunch that was just like sitting there) through Billy's chest. Billy babbled incoherently as he looked down at the blood bubbling out of his chest, where a turkey sub was currently imbedded. Then he died, and everyone missed him cause Billy was such a well-done character. Connor then broke both of Joel's legs and as Joel slumped forward Connor knee him in the head breaking his neck. As the two orderlies crumpled, Connor advanced towards the bearded idiot. Bearded idiot ran, hitting an alarm on his way out. No problem. They would all die in due time.

Connor noticed something that would serve useful in eliminating the security that was no doubt rushing to quarantine him right now.

He smiled and willed it to happen.

**Stealth Cloak Activated**

* * *

Captain Berg was the last of his squad to arrive. As the elevator chimed down, he saw a grisly sight in front of him. There were all the members of his security group, boys and girls that he had gotten to know personally and intimately, gruesomely dispatched. He wandered through the floor, gagging at the sight of his prized troops.

Lillian Caul was hanging from the rafters, her neck bent at a distorted unnatural angle.

Logan Unsinger was in two pieces at opposite ends of the main hall.

Benjamin Rolfe had died bizarrely, as if all the solid flesh and bone in his body had been reduced to dust and his body had collapsed upon itself.

Caitlyn Shrewus was hanging over a dining table, her face having been caved in by a great impact. He saw a badly dented vending machine nearby, Coke and Sprite fizzing from it in a expanding puddle.

Garrett Lin was electrocuted so badly that only his skeleton was left.

Dante Moro's jaw was missing, and his spine had been separated from the rest of his body.

What could've committed such brutal acts? What was King Desmond cooking up down here?

Bizarrely, there was a pot of coffee right in front of him. It was floating, and it was talking to him.

"Hello." The pot of coffee said to him.

"Hello." Berg said in confusion.

"Are you thirsty? You look like you could use a drink, fellow." The pot said to him.

"Um… no. Did you see who did all this?" Berg asked.

"Ah yes, that would be me." The pot of coffee exclaimed rather uncaringly.

"That's absurd. You're just some pot of caffeine." Berg stated.

"You'd be surprised. Do you want some coffee? Help calms the nerves." The pot was asking him again.

"For the last time, I don't want any fucking coffee shit. Now, tell me who killed my boys or I'll spill out your contents." Captain Berg took out his sidearm, cocked it, and pointed it directly at the pot.

"Sure you do. Drink up, captain!" Connor uncloaked himself, gave Captain Berg a few seconds to register the shock, and beat in his head with the pot of coffee.

Captain Berg's head hit the ground as his body fell, or at least what remained of it. The eyeball that hadn't been popped by Connor's bludgeoning rolled away, no longer in its socket. Connor stepped into the elevator, and hit the up button. It was a bit of blessing, in spite of their constant bickering in his own mind, that there were several Connors in his now. The modern one helped him to understand this world, its ways and its lingo.

The elevator traveled up at a snail's rate. Connor sighed and hit the option for music on the elevator control panel. He hit random song, not sure what would suit his tastes at the moment.

The elevator was playing songs from an album called Songs from the Black Hole by a group called Weezer. The modern Connor knew of this band to an extent, but he wasn't in charge right now. It was all foreign to Connor.

_Sometimes I wanna pack it all up, get on a bus and move to Vermont,_  
_Or Maine, or any of those states back east that I remember._  
_Sometimes I wanna go back to school, an east coast college with some history._  
_I'd be satisfied, I know, in the simple things._

_Longtime sunshine._  
_Longtime sunshine upon me._

Connor noticed what was on the rooftop floor he was heading. Weapons barrack and clothing. Good. Aside from the weapons that had been built into him and his robotic parts, Connor was practically naked.

Connor listened to the music playing, leaning back. His arms crossed. The elevator ride would take some time.

_Sometimes I wanna build a house with a wood stove or a fire place;  
In the middle of a living room an old piano.  
Sometimes it don't seem so bad to settle down with a good woman;  
Leave this lonely life behind forever and ever._

_Longtime sunshine.  
Longtime sunshine upon me._

* * *

"Hello, Shaun." Desmond remarked as he heard the doors open behind him. He was staring out of his room's window, at the tall building in the distance. The building housed his research and development department. Where the future of the Assassin Order was being built at this moment. His Order, his future.

"Are the rumors true?" Shaun demanded.

"Yes, Shaun. I am replacing you with someone more capable. You're just too damn untrustworthy. Fucking British shit…"

"I doubt you'll find anyone capable of cranking out orders and propaganda the way that I do."

"I don't intend to. In fact, I don't even care if that someone is more capable than you. All that matters is that you aren't in a position of power. In fact, I'm exiling you to one of the off-mainland islands. It's a pretty big one, so you'll have plenty of stuff to do before you get bored and start wanking off to the memories of mummy's twats."

"Grow up, Desmond. I'd like to know who will be replacing me before I go."

Desmond whirled around and pulled out a giant cardboard cutout.

"I present to you… Altair Ibn-La'Ahad!" Desmond beamed with pride as he held the lifesize piece of cardboard.

"Desmond, that's not Altair. That's a piece of a cardboard with no humanity. No personality. No lifelike traits. It's not real."

"Yeah, like there's any difference from the actual Altair. No one will ever be able to tell the difference!"

"What about the real Altair?"

"Like he'll ever show up in this story. If the greatest evar like Ezio hasn't popped up yet, what makes you think the least lamest Altair will?"

"You expect people to fall for this? To take orders from a giant piece of cardboard?"

"Oh, yes I do. Look! I even made a giant cardboard Malik to accompany him! Look!" Desmond proudly took out another cut-out. He started making the two pieces kiss.

"Ooh, the Tumblr community is so gonna love this when I unveil these two tomorrow!" Desmond continued his sick roleplay while Shaun facepalmed long and hard.

"Shut up Desmond. Just let me get my bags and passes." Shaun ran out of the room as quickly as he could. He wondered if Desmond had really been this immature all along, or if the shock of finding out the truth behind his life had caused his shift in personality.


	10. Desmond introduces Haytham to fanfiction

_I came as gold, I came as crap  
I came clean and I came as a Rat  
It takes a long time, but God dies too  
But not before he'll stick it to you  
Well I don't know, but I been told  
You never die and you never grow old_

That was elevator song #32. Connor had counted. This elevator taking quite some time to reach the top. He wished that he knew a way to jack up the speed of this thing. Oh well. At least the music gave him something to think about as he traveled to the top. Where the weapons and clothes were. And undoubtedly several guards ready to kill him. But he would dispose of them easily. The security squadron sent in prior did little.

_We are not your kind of people  
Speak a different language  
We see through your lies_

That was elevator song #64. The song's lyrics sort of reminded him of the plight of his people when it came to the colonists. It saddened him to remember killing his best friend. It saddened him more to realize that he no longer remembered the sound of Kanehtokon's voice, nor what he looked liked. That was how much time had passed, it felt to Connor.

He wished he had picked up something to read. The mind when you're alone just as easily can become your worst enemy.

There was always the alternative. But it didn't feel right, not with that part of him replaced by the robotic parts. Would it work, that was the question.

_I've got nicotine stains on my fingers  
I've got a silver spoon on a chain  
I've got a grand piano to prop up my mortal remains  
I've got wild staring eyes  
I've got a strong urge to fly  
But I've got nowhere to fly to_

That was elevator song #128.

He was bored out of his mind. He was willing to cut himself if his arms were still flesh, just to feel something. Just to alleviate the mood.

He started to go over all the ways to kill King Desmond, his father, George Washington, and anyone else that he felt had wronged him in his mind. He smiled. It made him feel better and the time flowed smoother.

* * *

Haytham locked the door to his new private bunker. No roommates, and best of all, no Clay unless the annoying Assassin knocked. He would stay here; see what he could do before moving on and continuing onto better means. In spite of Clay's nagging, he did not cut his hair nor did he change his clothes.

He quite liked his hair. It was prim and proper, like an English Kenway should have.

His hat was quite classy, like an English Kenway should wear.

Clay's explanation of a crew cut and business suit only disgusted him and he bluntly refused.

Nevertheless, the boy had insisted that the two stay in contact. He handed Haytham a device he called the radio codec, which would let the two of them stay in touch. He had insisted on using these ridiculous codenames when talking over the radio codec, in case King Desmond was listening in. Speaking of Desmond, he was standing right in front of Haytham at the very moment.

"Jealous? Bet you wish you had the power to teleport wherever you wanted."

Haytham lunged at the king, only for Desmond to sidestep. Dumbfounded, Haytham tripped as he witnessed Desmond's sudden fighting skills. He sliced at Desmond with his sword twice, and tried to shoot him at close range. Desmond blocked the blade with his staff of Falafel Apple (Fapple abbreviated) and caught the bullet with his teeth. Grinding it to bits with his teeth, Desmond spit shrapnel back at Haytham who barely ducked in time.

"Had your fun yet, Haytham? I can do this day… but are you?"

"Desmond... what have you done with my boy?' Haytham snarled at the hologram.

"Isn't that sweet? The father still cares for the prodigal bastard. Well, to spare you the heartache, let's just say that he's kinda dead at the moment." Desmond laughed as he concluded his speech.

"I'm afraid that it won't be quick and merciless when I find you, Desmond."

"Good luck reaching me, Haytham." Desmond flipped him the bird.

"What's the point of this, Desmond? If you have the power to create intangible clones of yourself, why not use that power to finish me off? You're only giving me more time to weaken your little kingdom. With any luck, reality will be back to its right course soon."

"Well, Haytham, it's true that I could do that. But you see, until Ezio shows up, you're going to be the only bit of fun I'll have. So I'll toy with you until the moment's finally ripe. Then you'll die. I will kill you to death. And besides, Haytham, do you really want to reset your reality back to normal? Return to being an unaware video game character? Especially after I show you what your fanbase is capable of?"

Desmond swung the staff and whacked Haytham's left kneecap. Haytham dropped as he winced in pain. His knee was throbbing, and Desmond was pulling back on his hair. He was holding the blasted staff of his in front of Haytham's eyes. Haytham tried to resist but Desmond only mocked his plight. The bulb of the staff grew brighter and brighter.

"Stay awake, Haytham. I think you'll want to see this."

* * *

**Father Loves Daughter – Chapter 15 of a modern AU fanfiction by XxRadicalBumLickersxX**

This wouldn't do, I thought to myself as I looked over Connor's grade sheet. A B+ wouldn't do. Not for a Kenway. Some say that I'm overreacting, like the squint-eyed gook over at the marketplace that drowned his son over missing one question on a quiz. But we Kenways are a proud bloodline, and we can't afford to have the half-breed shit leaving a stain on our legacy.

"Connor…" I tell her, making the disdain for her in my voice obvious. She winces at my tone.

"What is this?" I demand, showing her the gaping B+ that I have circled and put a cross through in my favorite red pen.

"Daddy… don't get mad…" The bitch is pleading with me.

"Oh, I'm not mad. I'm horny." I make my move, slapping her ass as hard I can. I proceed to put my hands in the back pockets of her jeans, feeling around. I smile as I sense her discomfort.

"Daddy, please stop. I don't like this one bit." Connor is begging again, the hurt puppy dog tone in her voice. Won't work with me. I enjoy stomping on puppies until their skulls crack and their brains come spilling out. Pity Connor never knew about that.

"I'm your daddy, Connor. Your blood is mine. Your mother is dead, and I'm your sole legal guardian. As such, this gives me the right to touch you anyway I like." I smack her across the face several times, hit her head against my desk once for good measure. I press her against her back down on the floor. I force my bulging erection against her, and she squirms as she feels it.

"Don't worry, Connor. That's not my cock you're feeling, that's my set of keys. The keys to your outlet!" Connor's trying to fight back, but she lacks the years of skill that I possess. I take out the knife, show it to her. The hopelessness of the situation finally becomes apparent to her. She becomes motionless, lets me do everything to her.

"The floor is no place for me to show how much I love you, Connor. Come now, why don't we retire to our imperial chamber?" I speak to her in a mockingly sweet tone as I fondle her breasts.

"Please… why… are you doing…"

"Because I felt like it, Connor! Now go." I forcibly pull her up, punching her in the stomach. She gags, but there's no vomit. Pity. I then hold the knife against her cheek as I walk her to my room, staying as close as I can so she still feels my erection against her ass.

"Don't ever tell anyone about this, Connor. Your friends, your teachers, anybody. If I find out, I will rape you. And I will kill you." To make good on my promise, I take my knife. Nick her on the left side of her lip. It will leave a scar. And if it works, it will make sure that she never tells anyone.

We're in my chambers now, I push Connor onto my bed. I begin vigorously, groping her all over as I force her clothes off. We're both naked now and lying face to face, looking each other in the eye. There's a glaring look of betrayal in her eyes, and it will haunt me for the rest of my life. But I don't regret this. She's a bastard, my mistake for not using a condom that night again. She's a mere reflection of her superior mother, and I might as well profit from the resemblance.

I hear my father Edward's voice in my head. That's right Haytham, my boy, do it just the way I showed you! And yes father, I shall!

* * *

"Enough, Desmond! Why are you showing me this?" Haytham demanded as the sickening scene of "him" abusing the female Connor went on. He heard Desmond's laughter, reverberating and malicious.

"You see now, Haytham? Why I can't afford to let you or anyone else take my power and restore reality? Because this is the shit that happens when Assassin's Creed is a video game allowed to release annually on Wiistation 4s and PC 360s every year! This is the crap that people distort our struggles, our stories, with! Don't you see, Haytham! I'm not a tyrant! I'm not a murderer! I'm just trying to protect you all from reality!"

"Don't make excuses for your behavior, Desmond. Regardless of your intentions, you are still a monstrous dictator. A dictator that must fall, and now that you've killed my son, I won't stop until you are dead."

There was a flashing light, and the two were back in Haytham's quarters.

"Why do you care about Connor… he's a bastard. A half-breed Indian! A mistake, Haytham! He's killed so many of your own friends, and Lee's the only one you have left! I have Lee in my service, I can get the two of you in contact! Why do you support your son now, Haytham! I know you. You were ready to murder him. Why do you support him now, when the most logical would've turned their backs?" Desmond demanded.

"I see in Connor the potential for happiness, the potential to live the life of security and promise that was taken from me when my father died. He's the only bit of family (aside from my half-sister, but we don't talk much) I have left. And most importantly, with the old man gone, I support Connor because… NO ONE ELSE WILL!" Haytham shot Desmond in the leg.

"Ow… woow.. ouchie.. ouchie.. FUCK! YOU FUCKING SHIT CHEATER! I KNEW I SHOULD'VE SENT REBECCA INSTEAD! Nobody shoots Desmond in the leg and gets away with i-" Haytham shot Desmond again.

"Owowowowowowohgodohgodohgod it hurts so fucking bad! You little English shitstain! I'll get you, Haytham! Fapple powers, out!" Desmond raised his staff, teleporting himself away before Haytham could finish him off.


	11. Confronting Vidic

The elevator stopped and the doors opened. Connor stepped out, and looked at a framed picture that showed the layout of the rooftop floor. He found what he was looking for in a matter of seconds. Connor sprinted for the armory, desperate to find some weapons and clothing. The door was locked, but no big deal. They had turned him into a cyborg assassin, after all. He kicked the door from its hinges, knocking down a rack of shotguns in the process. Connor looked over a shotgun, before tossing it away. Too loud and unwieldy for his tastes. But still… he could do with a firearm that contained the firepower of the shotgun. He found what he was looking for quickly by scanning the room, illuminating his target in the northwest corner. A .44 magnum, the most powerful handgun he knew of in this world. At close range, it would blow a head clean off. Plus he knew how to handle a magnum better than a shotgun. He took two of the revolvers for good measure.

Molotov cocktails. It was a pleasure to burn and laugh as flesh melted to a cacophony of human screams and Connor eagerly snatched the bottles. Wait, that wasn't right. To take pleasure in violence. Yes it was. No it wasn't.

Crowbar. You never knew when you needed one of these, and it would be handy to not be caught in such a situation without the crowbar.

Grenades. Connor grabbed multiple varieties, to account for the various situations he would undoubtedly find himself in during the near future. Incendiary, diversionary, he accounted for the entire lot.

He decided that he had enough room in his current inventory to carry around one final tool. But what to pick?

The chainsaw wasn't exactly his style. Sure, he found himself with a growing urge to murder and relish in blood but it wasn't exactly accommodating to his style.

Gunblade was ridiculous, far too over-the-top for his tastes regardless of his recent conversion to a cyborg assassin.

He had no idea when the Plaga Removal Laser would come in handy as he had no idea what a plaga was, so he left behind the alluring destructive energy weapon.

The Spartan Laser sounded and looked like something a five-year old would've made. He left it behind.

Cigarettes. For restoring health, they claimed. Came with a free cardboard box and rusty robot labeled the Metal Gear Mk. IV. The promises this kit made were so ludicrous that Connor nearly picked them up but then he realized he would have to carry all that around with him and changed his mind.

Then he saw it, discarded in a box labeled Lost and Found.

His Assassin tomahawk. He reached for it, but stopped before picking it up. It just didn't feel right, not anymore. It was the symbol of the old Connor, the naïve and impulsive. The one manipulated, shoved around as Haytham or Washington's errand boy. The one that saw the world in shades of black and white, who never saw the possible truth in the dying words of those he assassinated and never question the hypocrisies of both Assassin and Templar. Why did the two factions fight? They were so alike in their ultimate goal, but they couldn't get over an argument on whether God preferred meat or veggies for dinner. If he was to stop Desmond, he had to leave the old Connor behind. He risked losing himself forever, the reasons that he had fought in the first place. He had said that he would be willing to damn himself for the salvation of others. And so he would. No, he wouldn't. Yes, he would. Oh god, so many voices in his head all demanding something different.

"Who needs you? Once you meant the greatest to me… but now you are nothing. Nothing but a worthless blade and symbolism. I'm sorry, Achilles. I've let you down one final time but this is something I must do. If I am to stop him… Desmond Miles. I won't forget you, old man, and I will find and make a place for you in my perfect world. The perfect world I will build when Desmond falls and I take charge. No, I don't mean it like that. I'm not like him… I won't be like him. I won't abandon you… I don't know."

Alongside the tomahawk was something else. He picked the blade up, unsheathed it. He twirled it around in the air. It felt right. There was something unnatural about the sword. He slit a small part of his arm, watched the blood dribbling onto the steel. It cut well. Good. This would serve him well.

"Would you look at that? Big boy Connor found my abandoned little asian katana thing!" King Desmond's voice shocked Connor. He whirled around wildly, trying to catch sight of the King in the room.

"Oh, you hapless idiot. I'm not with you. I wouldn't touch you with a ten-foot electroshock pole. You suck, Connor, but if this Jack fellow I've been observing in one of these other realities has taught me anything, there's nothing better than constantly interrupting your foe wirelessly to belittle them and proclaim your own greatness. Good thing all you cyborg assassins were added to my contact list by default." Connor saw in the corner of his cybernetic eye a small caller profile. It read Desmond Miles and showed a picture of the king.

"King Desmond… I do not look forward to what you are suggesting at all."

"There's a block button, but I doubt you'll get past all the red-tape to access that feature. After all, I did have them implement some restrictions during the conversion process. I'll be watching you Connor. By the way, sword was personally crafted for me by some nut named Muramasa. Don't bother sheathing the sword without killing some fools Connor, one of my grunts learned that the hard way. But given how STUPID you are, I think you will! Ha ha ha!" King Desmond hung up.

He returned the sword to the scabbard and carried it with him. He noticed the tomahawk and he felt compelled and repelled at the same time. Reluctantly, Connor picked up the tomahawk.

"But I guess I shall take you with me. Just for a bit of remembrance." Connor hung the tomahawk by his side, although he had no intention of using it.

He would also look deeper into accessing this block button that Desmond had mentioned. It was bad enough when the old man and father had belittled him. He didn't need Desmond's help at all.

Connor found in the next room stretched over a table his old Assassin robes. But they were of no use to him now, bloodied and riddled with holes. Silently, he bit them a farewell as he lit them aflame with the built-in flamethrower in his robotic right arm.

He found a new set of clothes that fit him in a locker. They would help conceal the robotic parts that now comprised a bulk of his body. A hooded black overcoat, gray vest underneath. Enough belts and buckles to carry his equipment. Black leather-like pants and brown boots. A discreet enough disguise, but if he needed to access his enhancements he could easily activate them without removing the attire. He lifted the hood. Whether he liked it or not, he looked the part of an Assassin once more. It came with two masks. One a conventional gas mask used in warfare and the other an ugly abomination of metallic parts and other materials. It vaguely resembled a snarling wolf. Both would serve well in concealing his identity.

"Good boy, Connor. I see you found the shit I left you. I'm so very proud. Did you like it? I got it off of a man I killed after I pulled him out of another world truly separate from ours! No Templars, and the Assassins there were so removed from our definitions! The mask looked different when he wore it, but Shaun forced them to reshape it! He's the one who insisted that you have something special to mark your identity following the treatment. And I hate him for that. I so wanted to keep that shit for myself. The king. Hail to me, baby!" Desmond interrupted again.

Connor headed to the helipad, the only logical place where the bearded idiot could have fled. Warren Vidic, the man who had done this to him under Desmond's orders. He pushed into the open, greeted by a horrendous downpour and streaks of lightning in the sky. Some rebel fighter jets, antiquated models, flew past overhead firing their loads at other buildings. He saw Warren Vidic hurriedly running towards a helicopter but the bearded idiot tripped. He noticed Connor and yelped in fear.

Vidic reached the helicopter, and he pulled the pilot out. He held a gun to the pilot's head.

"Stop right there, Connor. I have a hostage, and I won't hesitate to pull the trigger! Don't you dare go pull any fancy invisibility cloak shit on me or I will pull!'

"Go ahead, see if I care." Connor sneered at him.

"I'm warning you, Connor. I don't wish to do this, just let me go. I know the value that you hold towards human life, how you kill only when necessary! STOP COMING TOWARDS ME! DO YOU WISH FOR THIS MODERATELY INNOCENT INNOCENT TO SUFFER BECAUSE OF YOU?" Warren Vidic heard a loud gunshot, but he hadn't pulled the trigger yet. The pilot collapsed, a smoking bullet hole now in his helmet.

"Your treatments changed me, doctor. They peeled back and destroyed so many layers of myself before the coma managed to save me from you. I'm just… so… conflicted about everything that I ever believed in… what do to do next… but I do know one thing. I will kill you right now, Vidic." Connor was holding one of the magnums in his hands.

Warren tried to scramble into the helicopter and fly off on his own, but Connor fired from his wrists the grappling hook. It tethered around Vidic, launching him back towards Connor.

"Get over here!" Connor yelled as he popped out the energy-based hidden blade in his free arm. Slicing downwards, he cut open the lower part of Vidic's body. The doctor's intestines came tumbling out.

"No… no… no… please do-aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa" The doctor was crying as Connor firmly gripped his beard and tugged it off, taking out the entire patch of skin.

Connor used the hook to shoot Vidic into the air before bringing him smashing into the ground. Letting loose the electroshock function of his cyborg arms, he began to cook Vidic's exposed flesh. The man cried and thrashed wildly as Connor laughed at his plight.

"You enjoying this, Desmond?" He asked.

"Certainly, Connor. I have to admit, the way I took him out was loads insipid compared to what you're doing to him right now. That's right, tear out those teeth! His death means nothing to me regardless of what you do!"

"But isn't he your chief scientist? The one who created the cyborg assassins? The one you need to make more like me?"

"Nah, Rebecca came up with it. Vidic and I took all the credit. Can't let a woman be responsible for these scientific breakthroughs. Can make anymore of you whenever I want. She's part of my beloved newly formed ménage a trois, alongside my girlfriend Lucy. You ever meet Lucy? I'll put her on the line with you eventually, Connor. We totally have sex every night, even when I've banged so many of my harem girls I've run out of sperm. But the pity of that is my sperm is replenished, unlike a certain orange soda famine orchestrated by the traitor Shaun Hastings! You should kill him for me, if you ever see this blonde shit with glasses hanging around an island somewhere."

"I'm not your personal assassin, Desmond. I'm an independent agent. I may take orders, but they will never be from you."

"And… fuck you too Connor. You're blundering on a great potential here! We might even get past my animosity for you! We could become super-best friends!"

"I had a best friend once. His name was Kanen'to:kon."

"And you killed him. Yeah, great friend you were! You see, that's all you're capable of Connor. You're a dog, a rat, a mere mongrel let loose from its leash! You don't deserve to live freely, you fucking drone. You ought to go back into bondage, my bondage! Like a good Assassin will! I am the KING! I am the MENTOR of the kingdom's Assassins! YOU FOLLOW MY CREED! AND YOU WILL IN GOOD TIME! ALL OF YOU WILL! OR I WILL KILL YOU ALL TRYING!" Desmond hung up again.

"Please… mercy… end it... I'm sorry for what we did to you…" The doctor, still alive, was begging as Connor picked flesh away exposing his bone.

"I'm not ending it anytime soon. But I'm sure gravity will be so lenient where I will not. Enjoy the ride down!" And Connor tipped him over the edge of the rooftop. He listened to the man's scream as he plummeted down. Connor laughed cheerily the whole time, in a disturbing monotone.

"I failed you all." He suddenly gasped with sadness. Mother, Achilles, those who had loved him and he had loved.

He didn't know what he was becoming.


	12. Escape and Pterodactyl

Connor would've continued wallowing in self-induced depression, but he heard the whirring of a helicopter and the rumbling of several fighter jets approaching the R&D Sciences Building heli-pad. There was a loudspeaker somewhere, a voice foreign to him demanding that he step down and put his hands on his head. Somewhere close, he heard the screeching of something ancient in flight.

"Ra-doon, um… Ray-to, er… Rah-tun, ah, whatever your name is: This is Officer Teodor Viscardi of the Capitol City Assassin Police. We have the building surrounded on ground and in air. There is no way out for you except death. We repeat, back down and surrender yourself to the Assassin Brotherhood."

This was just the Capitol City? So there was more of this twisted reality roadtrip that he had yet to travel.

"You have five minutes to make your decision. Then we open fire."

The rooftop was surrounded by several jets now, all branded with the Assassin insignia on their missiles and shit. There was also the aforementioned helicopter, a lone sniper and pilot perched. Connor readied his grappling hook. This was an absurd plan, but if it worked he would take care of the ground forces and get himself his own sweet little ride. A ride with nature, he noted as the ancient flier grew closer. It was beaked like a bird, but claimed a much greater wingspan and size as well as leathery skin in favor of feathers. A voice in Connor's fragmented mind, 2013 Connor, identified this as pterodactyl based on pictures from yellowed-and-worn-out childhood books.

Connor tethered the hook to the helicopter, launching himself towards the open compartment. The sniper, a blonde female Kurd screamed for clemency as he threw her out. The pilot started panicking as Connor throttled him causing the helicopter to jerk wildly, its propeller blades cutting apart one of the fighter jets. Connor leapt from the helicopter as the other jets fired, letting the missiles finish the pilot for him.

Now in freefall, he attached himself to the nearest jet. Using his immense cyborg Assassin strength, Connor ripped control from the pilot to himself. He did the same for the remaining jets, roping all of them together. Sabotaging the jet engines in case the pilots attempted to escape, Connor let the mass of fighter jets fall downwards.

The ensuing fireball wiped out the entirety of the ground forces, including Officer Teodor Viscardi whose last words were for his men to scatter and evacuate themselves as the flames consumed him.

Connor gracefully returned to the helipad where the pterodactyl was waiting. He climbed on-top of it, and after a lengthy dual of mid-air somersaults Connor succeeded in taming the beast for his own use. Zipping away, he decided to return to the place where he had first entered this world. Ft. George. Likely, his father would still be there. Crying about the importance of careful planning and other crap, having done nothing else since Connor had run off to the city. He named the pterodactyl Kaniehtiio. Emotional resonance and all that other sentimental shit. He had done an awful lot in his mother's memory lately. He was worried about obsession. He dreaded to think that maybe Dr. Freud had been right about that Oedipus Complex.

* * *

It was only natural that Desmond would try to call him again.

"Well, well, well! If it isn't my most hated ancestor!" The tyrant began as he came in through the internal contact system installed in Connor during the conversion. Connor gritted his teeth and listened, holding tight on the reins of the pterodactyl.

"Now, isn't that a sweet ride. But mine's sweeter. I have a fucking T-rex in my stables. You can't beat that, Connor Kenlame."

"What do you want, Desmond? Or are we just going to discuss dinosaurs for the next five minutes?"

"Now Connor, I'm going to give you another chance to renounce your sins against the Brotherhood and rejoin us in harmony. We shall cleanse your slate of all wrongdoings, savage. We will forget all our past grudges and we shall begin anew in an era of peace and grandeur. My men and women may never forgive you for what you have done, but their venom means nothing. They are nothing but mere prophets, after all. Prophets of the great Lord of this world! I am the Lord! I control the world and it bends for me! I notice the terrible downpour that has plagued the day and I saw no more rain shall fall for the day! Let there be light! AMEN!"

On cue, the rain subsided. The dark clouds rolled away, revealing bright daggers of sunshine. Connor's eyes didn't react to the sudden flashes. They had been reengineered during the conversion to account for such human flaws, after all.

"I don't have to forgive you, Connor. But I can, for I am the lord. So why do you reject my promises of tranquility? Is it because I slander your as a savage? Is it because of your inane notion that freedom is peace, and you turn me down for I do not view the world the same? Come now, Connor. You know yourself to be little more than a monster. Just think about all those people you murdered earlier getting out of all the building. Do you know their stories? Their names? The families you were making childless, widowed, and orphaned in your self-centered escape? No, Connor, you never stop to consider such a thing. You just murder anything put in front of you, for you are nothing but a savage at heart. Bloodthirsty, but you can be tamed by the superiority of a civilized man like me."

"You fare no better, Desmond. I see the suffering of the people in the streets below us. Do you ever stop to consider their names and stories? Their own plights? I hear reports of your men slaughtering such peoples by the dozen every day. For what? Crimes against the state? What crime is it, to steal when you have been pushed by the greatest starvation, Desmond? Do you ever think about the morality in murder, about the faces that you mangle? Do you, Desmond?"

"Lesser men may be frayed by your words, Connor, but these people die by my hands in my world where I am God… so I don't have to."

"You speak hypocrisy as all tyrants do, Desmond!"

"I am no tyrant! I am a just regent! I only seek to protect you from the true horrors of the Assassin's Creed, and amuse myself while doing so! Don't you see, Connor? Join me, and you shall finally find yourself fighting for a truly just cause. We aren't the flawed Assassins of yore, Connor. We are perfection. We are bliss like a candle in the wind. But we are also killer bees when necessary. And we know how to sting our provokers! Now, Connor, do you wish for me to be a candle or bee?"

"Everything has another side. A candle may burn flesh of men, while a bee pollinates and gives to men. I see no reason to believe in your offers, especially when I realize the depths you will sink to, Desmond."

"Why do you do this, Connor? Why do you carry on when even those you sought to save have turned their backs on you? Why, you blasted savage? You of all people should know! After all, I saw you fail to protect your people! I saw you kill your own father! I saw you return to nothing but bitter defeat! Why Connor? Why?"

"My mother, my father, I am sorry that I failed them both. I made a promise to protect our people… I thought if I could stop the Templars, if I could keep the Revolution free from their influence, that those I supported would do what was right. They did, I suppose, do what was right. What was right for them."

"You see, Connor? Failure! Absolute friggin failure! It's exactly the point I'm trying to make! Why can't you open your damn Indian eyes?"

"I'm a native of the Americas, not an Indian. Anyways… as for my father, I thought I might unite us. That we would forget the past and forge a better future. In time I believed that he could be made to see the world as I did, to understand. But it was just a dream. This too, I should've known. Were we not meant to live in peace then? Were we born to argue? To fight? So many voices, each demanding something else. It has been hard at times, but never harder than today to see all I worked for perverted, discarded, forgotten. My father would've said I described the whole of history. Are you smiling then, Desmond? Hoping I might speak the words you long to hear? To validate you, to say that all along that you were right? I will not, even now faced as I am with the truth of your cold words. I refuse, because I believe things can still change. I may never succeed, I may struggle for another thousand years in vain, but I will not stop. Compromise, that is what everyone has insisted upon, and so I have learned it. But differently then most I think. I realize now that it will take time, that the road ahead is long and shrouded in darkness. It is a road that will not always take me where I wish to go, and I doubt I will live to see its end. But I will travel down it nonetheless. For at my side walks hope, in the face of all that insists I turn back, I carry on. This, this is my compromise."

For a full minute, Desmond was speechless. Connor had thought that he had hung up, until he heard Desmond make his comeback in rushed voice:

"Wow, you're a bigger queer than I thought." And he hung up.


	13. 1st Person Perspective (Connor Pt 1)

odactyl I named after my mother at the mouth of the fort when I saw it poke up in the horizon. Landed in a loose term of the word, to be precise. Rough for me as I was launched and skidded several meters as the damn overgrown bird hit the ground. Making matters worse, the 'dactyl seems to have developed a resentful attitude towards me due to the landing. Screeched and flew off as soon as I tried to approach it and didn't return even as I called its name over and over.

Doesn't matter now. Takes more than a coarse landing to faze me. In my journey, I've had so many opportunities to walk away. When I found out that it wasn't Lee who burned down the village and killed mother, I could've left the Order then. Maybe, if I had found out earlier, I would've. But I was an assassin, and I had a job to do. To defeat the Templars and stop their plans. That's why I didn't kill Washington, even if I wanted to. His death would've opened the spot for Lee to take his place, exactly what my father wanted. As much as I wished for it to be, revenge wasn't an option.

I don't know what to think of father these days. I should hate him, for using me to further his own agendas. For attempting to exploit my childhood traumas to turn me against Washington. But maybe he did care. I saw his face when I told him that following me would only result in his death. Or maybe it wasn't the sorrow of losing his only son in his face, but rather shock that I was capable of outright disobeying him. I don't know what's become of him, I think Desmond informed me that he's joined his ranks. If that's true, there won't be anymore doubts about what to do. I will kill him. I will enjoy doing so. Hope Washington's somewhere in this world.

Fort seemed livelier than when I had left. Scavengers and stragglers likely to have moved in during time left. There were decapitated heads on sharpened sticks and buzzing flies left as doorstep decorations. Judging by the terrible states of decay they were in, some virtually reduced to bone, these had to have been here for weeks. The Assassin symbol had been carved into their foreheads, a quick scan indicated that these dead men had formerly been King Desmond's men. Left behind to ward off any of their potential brethren. Heard loud sounds as I got closer, of partying and fights.

Walked through the main game, one of the large doors snapped and unhinged, to a cacophonous portrait of disorder. A battle had been fought here, bullet holes in the walls and splatters of blood everywhere. The winners of that fight, I noted, as I spied a group of bluecoated men playing cards outside a makeshift pub. Not the patriot blue-coats however. These were different uniforms. Other than the soldiers, there were civilians and transients. Some people were passed out, while others were trying to make a selling. Stumbled over some glass bottles on my way in, dark wine seeping from one.

The redcoat girl was still at the fort. She bumped into me, her swagger drunken and unhinged. She tried to rub her hands around me but I pushed her away. As she crawled towards me she started talking to me in a slurred tone. In this recollection, I have best pieced together what I interpreted as coming out of her mouth.

"Do you like me, Connor?"

Told her I had no feelings on the matter. Explained I wasn't too experienced with dealing with her kind when it came to romance, didn't even know what her name was.

"Hold me, Connor!" She circled around me, continuously attempting to pull me into an embrace. Once she succeeded and began to thrust her body against me vigorously but I shook her off. Slapped her several times to put some sense into her. She responded by forcing her tongue into my mouth. As our lips brushed and tongues intertwined, she appeared to be mumbling for me to hurry up.

"Please… make love to me!" As she pulled away from me, gasping for air.

"I want you… Connor… please… bear my child. Make my body… yours. It's all yours to keep…"

Politely refused. Told her I was a bit busy at the moment, no time to make a woman or a child my responsibility. The worlds came out emotionless and awkward, the two of us just staring at each other. Her eyes were twitching and red. Stained on the left lapel of her coat was the remains of a white powder. The coat itself was disheveled, having pull pulled off and reattached millions of times with no coherent approach. Her hair was messy, coarse and starting to stick.

"Fine then, Connor. I'll be waiting for you, in there." Pointed towards an unlit shack with a small bunk and table visible.

"And if you won't, then your father will." She pointed to a large poster hung above us. It depicted a dawn breaking over a bleak horizon, as a ragtag troop of men and women in uniforms overtook a battalion of Desmond's Assassins. Leading them was him. A stylized, overly heroic exaggeration of Haytham Kenway. He was leading the charge, sword held high. His style of dress contrasted heavily with the rest of the men on the poster. In his other head was a decapitated head. To my shock, I recognized it as one of his former conspirators when I was hunting them during the Revolution. Benjamin Church. Read the poster's large caption.

**Haytham Kenway, the hero of The Resistance. **

Confirmed father was alive and possibly even in this very fort. Also confirmed he wasn't on Desmond's side and that I might still be able to trust him. Well, I was in no rush to find him. I was just going to stick at this fort long enough to regain my bearings, then set off on my journey once again. June had instructed me to seek out someone named Lincoln, that he was someone who could help.

Desmond would call me again. The following is my recording of the conversation.

-You see, Connor?

-What, Desmond? I see an emotionally wrought female who wasn't in the best state of mind. I didn't see the benefits of taking her up on those offers of love at the moment.

-No, Connor, I see a fucking faggot turning down ample opportunities for sex because he's a fucking closeted homo! Don't deny it, Connor, for I know it to be the truth!

-Desmond, I am busy at the moment and truth be told growing bored with your conversations.

-Connor, what I'm trying to say is that you're a fucking queer. You are the only fucking homo ancestor I have and it corrupts the pure bloodline that Ezio made for me ya damn queershit. You know why you're a homo? I never saw you doing the deed! I saw Altair do the d, I saw Ezio do various d's, and I even saw your own father spread your mother's legs wide and shove Haytham Junior into her cunt. She was crying as he did it, you know! But you, you're a fucking virgin! You know why, because you're a fucking faggot into men!

-Desmond, if I am as adverse to sex as you claim, how is it possible for me to be your ancestor?

-Fuck you, Connor! Don't bring fucking logic into this. I know! They extracted some of your sper-

-Desmond, you have frankly reached levels of pathetic even Hickey would be ashamed of. I found the block button, by the way.

-Wait, what? Don't touch that! I need someone to talk to! C'mon, Connor, please relent! I'll send you Lucy's nudes if you do, I promise!

He continued to beg wildly and cursed indecipherably as I blocked him from contacting me via these damn enhancements. That's one annoyance out of the way, and he won't be able to peek on me anymore to see what I'm doing.

This left me where I had started, blind and confused as to where to start looking for the Lincoln individual that June had told me to seek in her dying breaths. And with all likelihood, I would be sidetracked again due to my inane need to help all I encounter in need. Such as that sick mind Freud and his missing cigars.

So I headed to her shack where the girl was sitting cross-legged on her bunk chugging down a bottle of alcohol. Her eyes lit up when she saw me and she hastily began unbuttoning her coat.

"Um… I'm not… here for that. My father can have you, as far as I'm concerned."

Her response was slurred and dirty.

"Tell me, do you know where I can find someone named Lincoln? I was told he could help me get to Desmond…"

"Why don't you want me? I'm young, I'm fresh, and I'm into forest fruits! Please, Connor… make me a mot-"

"Please. I just need to know where I must head to find this man. I'm sure my father will be better for you… he, uh, knows his way around women."

"You aren't good with girls, are you?" She drunkenly enunciated while trying to grab at my lower extremities. I slyly slipped out of her grasp, letting her hit the floor with a slight thud.

"Tell me where Lincoln is." I demand again.

"Only if you make love to me afterwards, you half-breed savage!" She cries hatefully. "You should ask my dealer, he hangs out in the Sugared Clamshell bar at the northwest quarter of the fort. Ask for a Duccio, you can't possibly miss him… obnoxious, egotistical, and I would've killed him so long ago… if the drug and drink he provided weren't so affordable…" She started crying.

"Make love to me…" She begged.

"Later. Dobby would kill me with an utmost certainty if she found out I didn't give her the first chance." I reach over and she bends to try and kiss me but I pinch her hard on a pressure point located at the back where the neck and spine meet and her eyes roll back and she makes a slight mewing sound and calls me a bastard but a sexy one at that before she falls unconscious. I certainly will do my best to avoid her after I find what I have to do.

I find the Sugared Clamshell quickly due to the big neon letters in front of the building that says Sugared Clamshell and hoping I know what this Duccio looks like, I take the door an


	14. 1st Person Perspective (Connor Pt 2)

d I enter, straight into the darkness of the lion's maw. The Sugared Clamshell, she had called it? Time for management to consider a new name, as the desolate hub of scum and villainy I saw in front of me hardly had any feasible connotations with sweetness. The messily cluttered room around me is scattered with smashed glasses and tipped furniture, and it smells of human sweat and urine. I do not think I'll be sticking around to buy a drink, as I observe the numerous fights between transients raging around me. Most ludicrously, in the center there is a stage set up with instruments and amplifiers. A group of four is up on the stage rattling away at their strings and drums, belting out lyrics unaware that the bar is oblivious to their attempts to channel the power of live music to their surroundings. I'm shocked when the lead singer thrusts his body in a pelvic, sensual motion at me. He's grown his hair out like a mullet and he's let the mustache transform into a full-out beard and he's swapped the colonial coat for a distracting leopard-spotted leotard and ten-inch heels. But beneath the layers of eye-liner and lipstick he's applied I can recognize him and laugh to myself silently at how the mighty have fallen in this world.

Charles Lee.

He recognizes me in spite of the shorter hair and "treatments" that I underwent at that building of Desmond's.

"Show's c-c-c-cancelled, folks!" And he tosses his microphone aside, a glaring noise emit as it hits the ground. He scrambles off stage but I shoot out my rope dart and reel him in.

"What are you doing here, Charles?" I leer. "Shouldn't you be hiding, counting on my father to keep your pathetic life going?" I spit at him.

"Unhand me, savage and I can exp" but this is cut off as I slam him down on a pool table splitting it in half.

"I've let you mock and abuse my people for far too long, Charles. You may not have killed my mother but I still vividly remember you squeezing your hands against my cheek against the trees in the forest, spitting on and mocking me, just because of what I looked like. Don't you remember it, Charles? I still do, and the fear in your eyes at last is a treat that no words can describe. I could snap your neck, you know. A little more pressure and POP! The sad little flame of your life extinguished. You are a nothing. A speck of dust. You and all your ilk. Living in the fancy stone houses and riding in horse-drawn carriages as if this makes you any different from the true animals, oblivious to the righteous ways of the world. The wise among you like my father recognized compassion and equality. He at least sought to protect my people, even if it was not in the way that I intended. But not you, it seems. No... You cling desperately to your ways of hatred and superiority. Too ignorant to know your folly. But I am not unkind, Charles. Speak what you may, and I will let you go."

"I… I… w-w-w-was w-w-w-orking for King Desmond b-b-b-b-ut he k-kicked me out be-be-because I w-w-w-as t-t-t-too sycophantic, y-y-yes, that's the proper term. H-h-he o-only likes it when the lesser gender do it, y-you see. And s-since I c-can't find your f-father anywhere, this w-w-as the only option t-that I-I h-had!" He crying his eyes out now. I almost feel sorry for him, but then I remember what he's done to my people. What he's done to me and what he'll do. And besides, being unable to find your old employer is hardly the excuse to form a crap rock band. King Desmond has the apparent ability to manipulate reality. Perhaps, if I can acquire his source of power, maybe I can use it to wipe Lee from existence if I can ever bring everything back to normal. Or if I even want to bring it back to normal. June had presented a moderately strong argument about using his power to make paradise for myself, after all. With Lee and the rest of THEM gone, maybe me and father and mother will have the chance for the life that was taken from us. Yes, that sounds like a good plan. But here, killing Lee will probably only result in more criticisms from father, still too engrossed in this one man to see him for the dog he truly is. But I can still hurt him, to send out a message about what will happen to those that have wronged me.

"L-let m-m-me g-g-g-g-go now?"

I respond by punching Lee square in the jaw, smiling as his teeth fly loose and bone shatters. I then grab a pool cue from the faulty rack next to the shattered table and ram it through Lee producing a stream of bubbling blood. I deliberately avoid any of his vitals, so he'll live through every moment of agonizing torment until medics arrive. If they arrive, that is.

I leave the bleeding Lee where he is and set fire to the instruments. The other members of his little band had long fled, but I don't mind. I certainly do not feel like killing Pitcairn, Biddle, nor that unfamiliar fellow with the bulldog tattoo on his chest. I approach the bar, where a bartender in a peculiar green coat oblivious to what I have just done to his patron's "entertainment" is wiping at a glass that requires no such cleaning. There is another patron sitting there, a very tall yet lithe blonde. Long strands that reach the shoulders hang from the sides of her head and the rest of her hair is tied back in a ponytail. She dresses very very casually and much of her bare flesh is exposed. A small sleeveless top, short shorts, and boots that don't require the heels due to her considerably tall height. I am surprised that in a place like this, no one has attempted to flirt with her. I certainly will not. Those uncomfortable exchanges I had with Deborah in New York were evidence enough of my experience with woman. Besides, the color of her clothes is to be blunt, unappealing. Something like blue or black would be more aesthetically appealing on her, instead of orange.

"Where… is… Duccio?" I slowly enunciate to the bartender.

"Hey diddle diddle, I believe it's time for a riddle. Answer me, redskin, and I'll tell you where Duccio is. But fail… and you hand me whatever cash you've managed to acquire."

"I have no time for this." I snarl at him.

"But I do! And I believe that it is me, the king of mental power and quick thinking wit, which calls the shots around here! Not you pathetic shaved monkeys all brawn and not even a scrap of brain in the pitiful excuses that you call heads!"

"Tell me then, and I will show if I am as dimwitted as you claim."

"Riddle me this, redskin, when does a killer not kill?" A bad question, and it lets me act.

I grab him by the tie he's wearing. I slam the bartender down to the table With my free hand, I shatter one of the bottles of scotch that he had ready to pour. He gulps as I dangle the bottle's remains above him, letting droplets of scotch and small slivers of glass rain into his exposed face. Holding the sharp glass mere dust-specks away from his throbbing neck, I whisper in his ear.

"Right now. But if I relax my arm and flick my hand, that will all change. So tell me, WHERE… IS… DUCCIO?"

"H-h-he's in the back room, playing and making deals as usual!" I toss the bottle to the side and release the bartender. Instantaneously, he turns to a jeering attitude now that the threat to his life has passed.

"That one could have been solved by a monkey. But good job, nonetheless. But it's only going to get harder from here, redskin, and I know that the only way your savage mind can hope to comprehend the magnitude of my puzzles is by cheating because that is all you mindless apes can d-"

I shut the bartender up by cramming his hat in his mouth.

The woman finally speaks up.

"Leave Duccio to me. I've been tracking him… for quite some time." Without much emotion in her voice.

"What makes this Duccio so important?"

"Well, I wouldn't care normally but one of the leaders of the rebel groups contacted me a few weeks back. Turns out Duccio was selling shipments of poorly brewed whiskey to multiple squadrons of his men for cheap prices. Men were charging into battle drunker than usual, and he's been losing more than he can afford thanks to Duccio. So he contacts me. I hunt people and do other jobs, for a living."

"I just need to speak with him quickly. For information. Yes, information I need regarding a man I must find."

"Is that all? Fine then, going to the backroom. Speak what you must with Duccio."

"Thank you, for being reasonable. I do not get this sort of luck very frequently."

"Do whatever you want, but leave him alive so I can turn him in and reap the most my benefactor's willing to pay. If I find out you killed him, I'll consider that as you stealing my run. And then you're mine. You won't be safe until your corpse is charred and still. So come on, boy, try me." She smiles at me ominously.

I've wasted enough time trying to find Duccio, but the last thing I need is someone on my heels especially if this woman is as deadly as she claims.

Above the back room entrance is a sign that says "Reservations only." Well then, better make mine now. Just in case he has some friends with him, I should disguise my face. There were two masks that came with the new clothes that Desmond left for me in the research building, one a gas mask and the other an ornate yet ugly wolf mask. I choose to go with the latter for no particular concrete reason, but I have been compared to a wolf many times by those on the Homestead by those who see me hunt the deer.

I open the door.


	15. An Ezio debuts

It was his last visit to the King's imperial bedroom. He had sent the last of his bags to the courier boy who was taking them to the northern docks. He would be exiled to the bitter wastes of northern isles but he didn't mind. He had brought along enough in his bags to pull off what he intended. Get in contact with Desmond's enemies and join the ranks of the revolution. Perhaps, with a bit of his "charm" he could help unify the scattered resistance groups into a mighty fighting force that could somehow overthrow Desmond.

He heard screaming coming from within the chamber. Another one of the harem girls, most likely. They were as disposable to Desmond as the various Desmond Jr.'s he had killed when neither Lucy nor Rebecca were willing to give him hardcore love.

Inside, Desmond was beating a girl viciously with his fists. Interestingly, Shaun noted, Desmond had dressed the girl up like Connor. It was peculiar because Desmond had despised Connor and had informed him and Rebecca of this multiple times. He always had the harem girls dressed up like Ezio when he raped them, and sometimes himself as well.

Noticing Shaun, he pushed the girl away. Her face was cut badly, nearly every centimeter of her face covered in fresh blood. He heard her whimpering, begging Shaun to help. Desmond popped out his hidden blade, and slashed at her face. This produced a shrill scream. He nicked her on the left side of her lip with his blade, producing a deep cut that would fade into a scar.

"Now you have the scar, Connor. Now you can be cool, just like Ezio!" Desmond screamed at her. More roleplay, Shaun assumed as he watched the event unfold.

"Puhpuhpuhpuhlease stustutstustustup my nunununame is Natas-" Desmond slashed her with the blade again.

"SHUT UP, YOU CHEAP RUSSIAN WHORE!" and Desmond is forcing her onto his bed while he licks the cuts and he's spreading her legs apart and putting Desmond Jr. in her after he forces all the clothes off and just to have some more fun he's hitting her again and nearly tears her breast off but that doesn't satisfy him so he maces her in the face and drips acid into her eyes and shes screaming while he laughs over and over proclaiming Ezio's and his superiority. He has this bottle of wine and he's hitting her over and over and over until it breaks and there's glass stuck in her face and he's putting toothpaste on his arm and he plans on putting it to use until there's a loud gunshot and there's hole in her head next to the glass and Desmond wheels around to see who could've done this and he suspects Shaun and he's about to kill Shaun for ruining his fun until he sees that Shuan isn't carrying a gun on him and then he notices Lucy with the pistol in her pestilence-ridden hands swarming with maggots that are falling in bits as she fires again and again at Natasha to make sure she's dead and Desmond can't hurt her anymore. But Desmond doesn't know that Lucy killed the girl out of mercy and assumes that she killed her over jealousy so that gets him turned on even more and he starts to linger towards her zipper hanging over but she slaps him and moans an inhumane sound that vaguely resembles no loving tonight and lumbers away dropping roaches and more maggots as she does from her rotting body. Desmond screams for her to return and he starts yelling at Shaun to get out of his sight which Shaun, a bit mortified, does.

"Bene, I thought that we would have the room to ourselves. Muoto buono, I think that it's time we had a little chat." Desmond wheeled around at the sight of the familiar Italian voice. But it's not the one he's used to because this one is not wearing the white and red Assassin robes. Yet he has the hidden blades but the outfit is black and leather. Boots are military-like and he's wearing a red armband on both his arms and there's a white spot on the middle of each armband and printed on the circle is the Assassin insignia. He's wearing a cap and on the cap are the metal prints of an eagle and a skull. He wears where the lapels of his coat on a small chain an amulet shaped like the Assassin insignia.

"Are… you… Ezio?"

"Lei ha ragione. I am an Ezio. The best Ezio, to be esatto."

"Can I kill you, Ezio?"

"Cazzo! You think to harm me, the superuomo?" Ezio slapped Desmond.

"Puh-puh-puhlease, I w-w-w-want too. I'm the baddest but no one's going to believe it until I killed you!" Desmond pleaded, tears welling up and his eyes going puppy dog.

"Don't worry, Desmond. I'm not the only Ezio you've brought into this world... you'll have plenty of other chances to kill 'me.' There's the girl me, the douchebag me, and of course the boring original me. But I am the greatest of them all."

"Then I'll have to kill you, because that'll gurantee that I am the BADDEST!" Desmond rushed at Ezio with a knife in hand but Ezio pulled several muslce bound guards out of his ass literally and they proceeded to beat Desmond into a bloody pulp.

"Now, Desmond, I am here to negotiate with you. I can kill you very easily, e nessuno avrebbe mancherai. But I decided that there's greater things that we can accomplish, say, if we work together. Just give me my own sector of land, Desmond. Enough to build a multitude of camps, you see, designed to hold large quantities of subhuman beings."

"Wait... what... camps? What for? Marshmallows and hot dog production? Orange soda production?" Desmond begged hopefully.

"No, no, no. You see, when I was a young ragazzo all I was into were the ladies. Cristina, Viola, even Bianca when I was in that sort of stato d'amino. But my poor mother, she insisted that I find a new outlet in my life. And as such, the National Socialist Italian Assassin's Brotherhood has provided such the outlet for me. So, Desmond, will you take on my offer? Or will I have my truppe d'assalto finish you off and I take your throne?"

"I'll give you everything you want. Say, what do you mean about your new outlet?" Desmond promised as he spit out two of his teeth.

"Oh, you'll find out soon enough, Desmond. And so will the subhumans." Ezio smiled as he clenched his fist and licked his lips in anticipation of the Templar slaughter to come.

"Alright... I'll give you the land you want, Ezio. But keep in mind... if I ever feel that you are getting too out of line with my goals or if a better Ezio shows up... you know what will happen." Desmond carted away from the guards who were still trying to beat him, grabbing his staff. With a few chants and mental willing, the guards froze in their tracks. Their bodies started swelling from the inside, getting redder by the minute as their veins being popping. Their eyes began to bulge out of their sockets as the pupils turned red and the hissing sound of an inflating gas could be heard. Without warning there was a light crack followed by an explosion. The guards were gone, with nothing but scraps of skin and their organs decorating the room as blood and guts rained down and made melodic puddles as they trailed on the floor.

"Excellente, I knew that we could reach an agreement, re Desmond. And one thing, here have this book I wrote. It's a collector's copy, autographed by me, the superuomo!"

Ezio flipped Desmond a small hardcover book. On the cover was a scowling photograph of Ezio. In large white words above Ezio were the name Ezio Auditore da Firenze. In a diagonal red dash in the lower right hand corner of the book was the title. _La mia cotta. _My struggle, as Rebecca would later translate to Desmond as he cried over a tub of Mint Rocky Road Gum ice cream while watching the latest MLP: FiM episode while straddling his cardboard cut-out Altair and Malik, who both had utterly bombed with the men at their unveiling because everyone know that it was a fake cutout and not the real thing and the men hated Desmond for sacking Shaun the general that they loved and while Desmond cried about this to Rebecca as she forcibly prevented him from doing the love with her she suggested that she rebuild them into life-like puppets and get a talented puppeteer to bring them into motion.

He then turned to crying about how Connor had blocked him and how he couldn't bring himself to kill Ezio now even when he had shown up at last.


	16. Desmond's Breakfast

Desmond flipped through the pages of a newspaper, while chewing on his breakfast, two pieces of soft Italian bread with Nutella and Chocolate Frosted Sugar Bombs spread liberally in between. He smacked his lips, tasting the sweet flavor of hazelnuts and chocolate that only Nutella (manufactured by and a copyrighted product of Ferraro) can deliver. He was eating with his official girlfriends (not part of his harem), Lucy Stillman and Rebecca Crane. Lucy was moaning again as some roaches fell from her mouth into the bowl of bland oatmeal that Desmond had prepared personally for her and she was pulling a large worm from her left ear. Rebecca was slicing open some exotic tropical fruits.

"Don't see how you can eat that crap, Desmond." Lucy moaned something vaguely resembled human speech.

"C'mon, Lucy. Would you rather have the boring taste of fucking oatmeal or the magical "crunchy on the outside, chewy on the inside" allure of Chocolate Frosted Sugar Bombs? They're not only delicious, but NUTRITIOUS! Part of a well balanced Desmond breakfast!" Desmond snatched the box and began chugging down the cereal.

Rebecca chimed in. "Desmond… that crap literally contains no natural ingredients. Don't you care about what's happening to your body with that…. that… stuff?"

"Fuck natural ingredients! 100% artificial gives these Sugar Bombs that classic rich fudgy taste that only factories can provide! Besides, Rebecca, you know that I don't eat any cereal crap like corn shit flakes that don't turn the milk purple!"

"Desmond, you are aware of all the sugar and caffeine in one bomb alone, right? It's like eating an entire bowl of nothing but milk duds and Coke."

"And both of those things are also DEE-LICIOUS AND NUU-TRITIOUS!" Desmond protested. "Besides, Sugar Bombs contain eight whole vitamins, see? It says it right here on the bo- hey, where'd that part go?" Desmond scanned the nutritional information in confusion.

"Just admit it Desmond, your near omnipotent control over reality as we know it is the only thing that's keeping you from turning into a diabetes-ridden blob of fat right now." Lucy snarled at him in more groans.

"C'mon Lucy, why you always gotta be on your period lately? We don't do no lovin' anymore, you keep messin' up my sandwich orders even with that traitor Shaun disposed of, why?"

"I'm sick of decomposing, Desmond. I want to feel like myself again… not like this. You promised me you'd restore me, Desmond, you did!" Lucy waved hands of rotten, peeling flesh.

"Yeah, Lucy, but I also killed you at the end of Brotherhood and I didn't promise to bring you back to life although I'm sure that's what you wanted me to do. Besides, I kinda like it with you dead and rotting. Ma always told me to taste the variety of life." Desmond smacked his lips as he looked over her.

"Desmond… there's this thing I've been wandering..."

"Ask ahead, Rebecca."

"Why did you give all that land and power to _that _Ezio? He's a freaking Nazi roleplayer. Haven't you heard the rumors of him rounding up anyone suspected of being a Templar? Catholics, Africans, Muslim, so many people that were only minding their own business until you handed power to that… that… Desmond, you've sentenced millions to death by now!"

"Because he's Ezio!" Desmond protested. "Ezio's the greatest and if he does genocide, then genocide's great as well!"

"You're hopeless." Lucy grumbled.

"What do you think of the new and improved Maltair dolls?" Desmond beamed proudly as he took out some lifelike puppets. "Of course… they don't emotionally resonate with me like the cardboard did but if it helps fool the men once we get a skilled puppeteer to control them…"

"Desmond, while you're sitting here talking puppets and fucking cereal, we are losing more ground every day to the resistance forces. Lincoln, Sixteen, they're talking of unifying their groups into one super rebel alliance. They've gotten loads of talented help fighting for them, such as Haytham Kenway who took out fifty of our factories with just one ten-man battalion last week alone. There's also the problem of your escaped test subject Connor who ruined our primary development building and whom we've officially lost track of. He could be anywhere by now, plotting against us. Then _that_ Ezio… you think he's going be satisfied with the land and lives you handed over to him? You also sacked Shaun, and he was loved by the troops that served under him. You're damaging our fighting morale, Desmond. You expect to replace a popular general with fucking puppets and cardboard and expect everyone to just go for it?"

"Rebecca, I know that the cardboard failed but hey if I can get a puppeteer skilled enough, passionate enough about his stupid profession… these new puppets might just work! See, I've found an ad in the paper already! There's this puppeteer named Craig and his credentials seem legit enough. The men will be floored and they will be in fighting shape again in no time. We will crush these pathetic rebels, Rebecca. I know because I am Desmond, king of reality and I can see everything."

"You can't really, Desmond, or none of this would've happened. Without that artifact that you choose to call fapple for whatever fucking reasons, you are nothing, Desmond. If anyone were to take it away… well, you know what will happen to you and this precious Desmondland you've built. Besides, there are other fragments of the artifact buried around this world that you haven't found yet. Each possibly just as or more powerful than the one you possess. Wonder what will happen if someone really mad at you like Sixteen or Connor got their hands on it…"

"Don't fucking remind me, Lucy! You know how sensitive I can be about weaknesses!" Desmond burst from his chair and out of the room crying and the girls hi-fived.


	17. A Probably Point of No Return

Connor walked into the backroom, where a circular table had been set up. Behind the table were a multitude of boxes labeled various terms such as alcohol and guns. At the table with his legs crossed on top of the table was a man fiddling with a deck of cards. He wore a brown cap atop a head of brown hair. He dressed in a vest covering a purple shirt, a bland set of thin gray trousers, and a pair of slightly heeled brown boots. He had an arrogant, disrespectful aura that Connor sensed in this man. He guessed that this was the Duccio that he had been told to seek out for information. At the table were some other people that he was distributing the cards to. There was a man whose hair and beard were thinned and whitened, but body was still in prime condition. An eye patch covered his left eye. He was offered a cigarette by the man who appeared to be Duccio, but declined. A Chinaman in a business suit, who emanated an aura of both shrewdness and intelligence. A man with hair that hung by his chin, a beard starting to crow, wearing a red cap and a cape. He started to stare at Connor with a sort of interest that discomforted him.

"Ah, another miserable maggot crawling from under Earth to seek out me, the astounding black market trader of information and goods, the gallant Duccio de Luca!" Duccio exclaimed. "Why the hideous mask though? Bad case of acne perhaps? Ho ho ho ho! Mayhaps you be a friend of that demon with the scarred lip! In that case, you can go! No game, no exchanges, nothing!" His tone was starting to turn hostile.

"I… do… not… have… time… for… this." Connor slowly enunciated to Duccio. "Just tell me one thing… where can I find this Lincoln I have been told to seek out?"

"You don't get any information or anything for free unless you prove yourself worthy of such rewards. By beating, the purest vessel of the heavenly host himself, the great Duccio in a game of my rigged choosing! Yet somehow, in spite of my chaste indomitable talent at all games, that bastardo with the blue hat still managed to trump me in Dishonest Dice. Oh, but I showed him! He had been told that I had vital information about King Desmond. I told him once I lost all my die that King Desmond had an insatiable desire for orange soda! Ha ha ha ha, was that dense bastardo trumped by the great Duccio that day!"

"Fine then… I'll play your damn game. But you test my patience, Duccio." Connor took out his hunting knife and began nicking the wood table as Duccio tossed him a set of cards.

"Say, that's a mighty impressive knife you got there. How much florin you take for it?" Duccio's eyes were beaming.

"This knife is not for sale. My mother held this exact knife to the throat of General Washington himself as my father chased down the man they called Bulldog. It was handed down to me after she passed, and it has skinned many a hare and bear."

"Ah, a freebie for Duccio! Gimme, gimme!" Duccio tried to grab at the knife, but Connor dodged his hands.

"Then you shall."

Connor plunged the knife into Duccio's right hand, impaling his hand against the table. The other players at the table backed away as Connor slammed Duccio's forehead against the rim of the table, cutting deeply.

Duccio gaped aghast as blood bubbled from his hand and head, and then he started screaming.

"Let's start talking." Connor said .

* * *

The Assassin general cares little for whatever plan Desmond has concocted. All that matters is that the King has given him the opportunity to fulfill his wildest dreams, of being in control over a million peoples lives with the power to grind them into nothing but a speck of dust at any moment without repercussion. He was living in an ideal paradise, until the resistance fighters started showing up. At first the Assassins had smashed the splintered fighters repeatedly, but the absurd had happened. They were becoming organized, more powerful by the minute. And with the news of the ever surmounting triumphs of the resistance groups as they liberated Assassin-held territory, the common folk dared to grow bolder. And it was his time to lead his men to punish them in the towns and roads that they still held, to show the rats that he was still in charge no matter how many nameless outskirt towns the rebels captured, that the King was authority.

His elite guard all wielded top of the line weapons fresh from the main Research & Development building, prior to its mysterious bombing that only the closest in Desmond's circle knew the exact details to. One of his friends, Captain Juhani Otso Berg whom he had trained with, died gruesomely in that building along with his entire squad. Desmond was said to have been building the ultimate weapon in that building, but just what exactly was it? The guards stood watching a rounded up group of men and boys from the town where he was stationed. It was time to strike more fear into the populace.

"For a month, we of the Assassin Order have provided a weekly ration for you to sustain your families. The King did not have to show such graciousness, but yet he did! And how do you people repay his gratitude? By rioting at this week's wheat ration and attempting to storm our storehouse! And do you know what we do to such acts of dissent to the King's authority? We shoot! But it won't be just any sort of shooting! No, you shall enlist the aid of the despicable democracy that you so wish to replace the King with to decide who lives and who dies! Now, here are some slips of paper. Write down the names. START!"

Pleased with himself, the general bit into a taco that he had brought from a nearby vendor.

The mouths of his guards dropped as he suddenly turned purple, grasping at his throat as his eyes turned outward and foam trickled out of all his bodily openings. There was a sickening hissing as the general's skin was sucked inward and his body collapsed. The guards glanced at the half-eaten taco and then stared at the vendor. The vendor was throwing off the uniform and ridiculous taco hat that he had been wearing when the general had made his purchase.

The dread in their eyes increased tenfolds as they saw the man replace the hat with a blue tricorn.

"Greetings, gentlemen. If we weren't on opposite sides of the coin, I'd say with the greatest of regrets that your general should've known better than just buying from unreliable street foods."

"It's Haytham Kenway! The hero of The Resistance!" screamed one of the guards as his knees buckled and behind tightened.

"Knew there was something damn fishy about a fucking tea chugger selling us beaner food!" The guards that hadn't shat themselves were aiming at Haytham.

"I don't suppose that I convince you to be family men and walk home as if nothing happened? I hate to further stain my late son's memory by more needless death." Haytham tried to negotiate as he brandished his saber.

"With you dead, we'll be heroes. Chicks, promotions from the King 'emself, it's all gonna be comin' for us with your bloody head on a platter." A scowling guard with a pair of brass knuckles was approaching Haytham.

"A pity." Haytham snapped his fingers. As if on cue, Resistance-branded fighter jets streaked above the skies, the rumbling devastating eardrums. Their missiles fired at the Assassin camp nearby, sending it into a gleaming inferno of fire and death. As the guards dropped their weapons in shock, Haytham swung and took off the guard's head.

**oh look, Haytham's still in this story! **

* * *

"Where can I find Lincoln?" Connor looked over a vial of corrosive acid that he had found in Duccio's bags.

"YOUR FATHER WAS A GIGOLO, AND YOUR MOTHER THE MOST LECHOROUS SLUT OF ALL THE FORESTS!" Duccio screamed at him.

"That's not the answer that I was hoping for." Connor splashed some of the acid in the Duccio's eyes until they were no more. More screaming.

"You aren't worthy of the great Duccio's word, savage beast! Give me back my beautiful eyes, I plead!"

"I've broken both your hands, I've blinded you, I've put shards of broken glass in the most vital parts of body, and yet you remain unwilling to tell me what I seek."

"Hah hah hah!" You believe me, the Captain Fantastic Duccio, to be affected by such mere mortal imbediments like pain and disability? No! I am the Great Duccio and you will have to dig much deeper to get a peep out of me!" Duccio laughed through his pain at Connor.

"You'll wish that you had talked when I gave the opportunity to do so." Connor found a hammer, began flattening Duccio's fingers.

"Bah? What is this pathetic attempt at squeezing words from me? You think this hurts me? You think that breaking me will put me on a level equal to you wretched redskin worm?" Duccio laughed again as Connor pried off his fingernails.

"No, I think I'll just beat you to death with your own merchandise." Connor took from Duccio's bag a polished crowbar. "Tell me what hurts more, Duccio. Forehand?" Connor swung. THUINK. "Or backhand?" Connor swung again. SPLLISSOOSH.

"Forehand?"

"Or backhand?"

"Forehand?"

"Or backhand?"

Connor continued to swing the crowbar at Duccio, and with each fragile flesh coming to touch with cold quickly bloodying metal Connor started to find himself enjoying the torture. He was different. He wasn't the same Connor anymore. He wasn't even Ratonhnhake:ton anymore. Desmond had changed him, and he had to admit to himself that it was for the better. Oh yes, to finally deliver true justice to those that deserved it! Then he heard the voice, and he held the crowbar back.

The world felt as if it was in freeze-frame. He felt footsteps, nimble and cloaked, coming to him. He didn't dare look behind him, not because he dare not look at her after what he had done, but he finally had the means to move on. Beyond her, beyond the childhood and his life before the new world.

"Ratonhnhake:ton, what are you doing? I thought that I had raised you better, to never fall to the same depths of brutality that your father did."

"You aren't real. You're nothing but a figment of my imagination or a last ditch attempt by the pathetic conscience, the worthless beliefs of compassion and mercy engineered upon me, to… how do you describe it? Save me from myself? I say that I need no saving! I have tasted what it feels like to finally step on the backs of others, when I have been stepped on all my life! Don't you see, mother? This is what is best for me! With absolute power over others… I can build a perfect world! Where no little boy will ever be strangled simply for how he looks, where no little boy will return home to set his village set ablaze, where no little boy will lose his mother FOR NO REASON AT ALL EVER AGAIN! Power… I see now that is what I need. It was what I was missing the whole time. Lincoln means nothing to me, he is merely just a stepping stone in my ascent to control. And when he is of no more use to me, I will dispose of him as I will do all the others!"

"Please, Ratonhnhake:ton, listen to me! This isn't you, Desmond's corrupted you, but you can still save yourself! Please… listen to me!"

"Please do not oppose me mother. Everyone has betrayed me now except for you. And I will regret having you to add you to the list of those that I shall enact my vengeful revenge upon."

He would become the new king in Desmond's place and if his mother was to be a liability, so be it. He turned around and smiled at her, his eyes growing wide. He wrapped his hands around her neck, pressing harder with each passing second. Go to sleep, mother, go to sleep. With the slightest bit of pressure, pop went her neck. As His mother's body collapsed, He smiled. It wasn't an easy task to do, but it was necessary. There would be much more blood that he would spill on his ascent to the throne. Connor would've protested to the buckets of gore that would spill and perhaps even the native would. But He was capable of doing all the tasks that He asked of Himself. It would be preferable, if He distanced himself from the meandering plagues of conscience and morality and lived as a real human should. Merciless, calculating, self-seeking, and bloodthirsty.

Duccio was still laughing at him, even with his ears hanging distached by a mere sliver and his gray matter starting to tumble out.

"Neither of them hurts, you little retard! For nothing can damage the great Duccio as long as he has his hoes and bling-bling!" said Duccio as he read from his copy of the script.

"How convenient." The Cyborg Assassin smiled.


	18. Connor's Destiny - The Fall

"Tell me…." The Cyborg Assassin asked as he scraped the edges of the rusting coins against Duccio's cheek. "What do you suppose these are?" As he took the arm of one of Duccio's female escorts and forced her to brush her fingertips against the other cheek.

"That can't be my florin! And that can't be my favorite ragazza! Ah ha ha ha ha ha, you think yourself capable of tricking the grand Duccio?" But his laugh seemed more desperate now.

"You are delaying the inevitable with your delusion, Duccio. Tell me what I need to know, and I will spare your pathetic material belongings." The Cyborg Assassin threatened.

"Go ahead! See if I care!" And hearing this, the Cyborg Assassin proceeded to crush the florin in his hands, holding them right next to Duccio's ears so he could hear every bending and crunch. Duccio began thrashing about wildly and screaming, destroying what was left of the hand that the Cyborg Assassin had impaled on the table.

"Alright! Alright! Duccio gives in!" He was sobbing unfeasibly as the Cyborg Assassin dangled the remains of the florins into his empty bleeding eye sockets. "Commander Lincoln… he was here just a few days ago at a grande culo meeting of the ribelle groups, but he's gone now, off to do battle with General Hickey's forces in his Pacifica West liberation campaign! But with any luck now, Hickey will have crushed his forces and with that taken 'is head so you bastardo diavolo will never find him! Never!" Duccio started laughing again until he heard the Cyborg Assassin speak.

"I have had to endure you for far too long. Now goes your head." The Cyborg Assassin unsheathed his blade.

"Wait! What about us? Do you think that we were here just to play cards?" The old man in the trench coat scowled at him.

"What do you want?"

"Launch codes." The old man.

"The names and backgrounds of some individuals whom may serve well in my later 'negotiations.'" The Chinaman.

"Playgirl back issues." The bearded man in the red cap. The other two turned to look at him curious, but he just shrugged. "What? I'm allowed to have my own tastes!"

"And can any of you tell me how these will benefit my own pursuits?" The Cyborg Assassin snarled. "No? Then this man dies right now." And he prepared to swing the blade at the blubbering Duccio's neck until the old man was on him, knocking him back by surprise with a jab to the neck and the blade went flying from his hands.

"Old man… you think yourself capable of stopping me? I am the Cyborg Asssassin… a man held captive by King Desmond and reengineered to become the deadliest fighting machine. You're nothing but some shit with a missing eye." The Cyborg Assassin tried to punch the old man, but the bastard was surprisingly quick and quickly tripped him before snatching one of his pistols and his hunting knife. The old man was assuming a stance, holding the gun in one hand and using the knife-wielding hand to support it. The Cyborg Assassin tried to attack again, only to end up with the knife to his throat. "Try to slit me… I've been engineered to withstand such mortal failures." The old man responded by slamming him to the ground. On his feet again the Cyborg Assassin grew frustrated and took out his other pistol but the old man was quickly on him again and soon the Cyborg Assassin in bewilderment was watching the old man disassemble his gun component by component.

"Try disassembling this." The Cyborg Assassin popped out his hidden energy blades. Then he was standing there in further bewilderment as the old man smoked a cigar in front of him while both his mechanical arms were disassembled and falling to the ground in clatters and clinks.

The old man was taking out a few cigarettes. "There's only enough room for one iconic character from the third installment of a beloved action and stealth series here, and that's me."

The Cyborg Assassin saw the gas emit from the cigarettes as it drifted towards him, collapsing. The last thing he saw before the room went blank was the red capped man starting to eagerly examine him.

* * *

He felt like he had been dragged behind a horse and then run over by a carriage for good measure. Every joint and muscle in his body ached like an overbearing mother and someone kept lighting fireworks and cigars in his head. He was in a dilapidated cell, droplets of dirty brown water falling tap-tap-tap from the ceiling. There was a single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling, continuously flicking on and off by itself. He was lying slumped against the wall, next to a flaking bunk. His stomach rumbled. But there was nothing to eat and he dare not drink the water. Ugh, not even a lousy cockroach or rat in the cell.

He heard a rattling at the barred front of the cell and he saw a familiar figure supported by a cane, tossing an uncooked cut of beef at him. Connor weakly rose, but he stumbled at his first step.

"Master… please… help me. I have to get out of here, I have to stop him. King Desmond." Connor begged as the man pushed the meat towards him with the cane.

"Every king has his reign, Connor, and Desmond's ended long ago." The old man, reminiscing bitter sweetly, shook his head. "You once gave me hope, Connor, even if we always argued. I admired you, Connor, in spite of our difficulties for your unwavering tenacity and honesty and how you took the burden for the responsibilities that no single man should've bore. I was yours in brotherhood, Connor, but that was a long time ago. I should've seen it coming the day you defeated him that things weren't going to improve. After all, life is not a fairy tail. There are no happy endings." Achilles sadly shook his head. "I can't let you go, Connor. He, or you, sees everything." And he limped away, as Connor called for him to return in grief and confusion.

The meat was hard to chew and bloody, but Connor was so hungry that it didn't matter as he ate it whole. He tried the cell door. It rattled but it was still secure in its foundations. And although the meat had made him slightly reinvigorated, he was in no shape to break down the door. So he crawled on top of the bunk. The mattress was sagging, the springs ready to give loose at any moment. In many patches it was dull and spotted. The blanket was far too thin to provide any sort of warmth and the pillow was lumpy and hardened. But still, Connor though to himself, it was better than nothing at all. He would find a way out, he would endure his time in here until then.

He was awoken by the sound of someone rattling the cell door. Tiredly, Connor dimly opened his eyes before shutting them again. Groaning, he arched his back and rolled out of the bed. Hopefully, it was someone come at last to break him out. He didn't remember how he arrived in this cell, nor how long he had been in. He had forgotten the passage of time since the Master had given him the bloody meat.

"Wakey, wakey." A young woman's voice as someone splashed bitter frosty water all over him. Connor's eyes were wide open now, and he squinted as the light swarmed into his sockets and he tried to recognize who was standing in front of him. It wasn't Dobby, Aveline, Ellen, or any of the other remarkable women that he had met during the courses of his travels. Nor any of the women that he had met in Desmond's reality. Her hair was dark brown, near black, and tied with a shadowy emerald green lace. She was long-legged, nearly as tall as Connor himself. Her eyes were a mysterious clever shade of gray. If it weren't for the prominent series of scars on the right side of her face, she'd be completely attractive.

"Who are you? Another jailer, perhaps?" Connor asked. The girl was dressed similar to the people from Desmond's time. She wore a short-sleeved white buttoned shirt and a gray vest. She wore very thin slacks, black and tied with a red belt. She shook her head.

"I'm a visitor. The old black gave me this bucket in case you had fallen and couldn't wake. Father normally doesn't like any of his children, um… visiting you but he asked me to. He's planned on coming to see you plenty of times, for 'old times sake' as he puts it, but he always relents before doing so." The girl brushed away a strand of hair.

"Who is Father? Why am I here? What happened to King Desmond?" Connor was demanding such a multitude of questions that the girl was beginning to tune him out.

"Father always told us that in the end, it was the prisoner and the king who knew who they really were the truest. I guess it was he that you were referring to. He needs you, that is why he keeps you locked up in this tower, I guess. You have some sort of connection that only the Father knows. As for the old king, I wasn't sired by Father till long after he had killed the tyrant. People still hate him to this day, and every year they celebrate the special day when the sun shined over the skyline of the capitol city as Father dropped the dead body of Desmond into a nameless ditch and assumed the throne. They adore him, you know, Father. He is a just king, and he has made us all happy. Of course, I used to be a rather naughty girl and a very terrible daughter but my Father didn't give up on me. With his great powers that he uses to keep order in the kingdom, he plucked apart my rebellious mind and set about reassembling it. Of course, I tried to fight him but in psychological warfare there's only so much that a poor eleven-year old like myself could've done before my mind gave out. And I've been a good little girl ever since. And like everyone, I'm happy. Except those people. Those horrible horrible rebels. You'd think that they'd be grateful for the fall of the Miles monarchy, but yet they continue to fight. Sometimes, you know, I still feel twinges of a desire for freedom and escape. He doesn't know it, but Father didn't pull out every bad string. And I feel scared when that happens, for I fear for failing Father and what he may do to me."

"You were mentally tortured? At such a fragile age too? I cannot imagine what it must feel lik-"

"It's not really that bad. I got over it, because that was what Father asked of me. He left all these on my face, as a reminder to be a good girl at all times. I mustn't be imperfect, for he has selected me as his successor when his time comes when we got to know each other real personally. He told me to feel honored, that a bastard like myself be chosen as the head of the line of successions. Made all my sisters and brothers so jealous. Some of them tried to hurt me too but Father usually stopped them. Anyways, I'd like to thank you for taking the time to hear what I have to say, although I have somewhat forgotten why I came here besides my Father's request."

"What is your name?" Connor asked. There was something coldly, disturbingly familiar about the woman in front of him.

"Charlotte Kenway, daughter of the Father and his wife Deborah's maidservant Frederique." She curtsied to him and was out.

So the Father overthrew Desmond and the people gladly traded one tyrant for the other. And Connor thought back to what Achilles had said. But it couldn't be. Here he was right now, and yet there was the possibility that out there he was. But it couldn't be possible. Connor slumped back to the bunk, lying restless on top of the rough sheets and pillows. Maybe Haytham had a secret bastard in his wings.

Charlotte Kenway… that name was so foreign yet so familiar. Memory be damned, where had he heard it before? The last thing that Connor could remember was the terrible feeling of defeat as it turned out the Desmond he had been battling was an elaborate illusion projected by the King's majestic reality-bending powers, as guards fired bullet upon bullet into him shredding him apart before the real King emerged from the shadows and sent him to the realm of darkness. What had happened to him after then?

* * *

He tossed and turned, caught in nightmare again. There were no windows in the cell, just the light that flickered on and off. There was no way of gauging how much time had passed. Whether it had been mere minutes, months, or years. He might die in this tower, never a bit close to discovering the truth to what had happened to him and his father. How Desmond had brought them to this apprehensive new world.

Every now and then Achilles would come by and toss him some food. Connor, in his hunger, would now scramble directly to his food and scarf it down without looking at his master or saying a word to him for satiating his hunger was all that mattered to him now. His memory was starting to become more fragmented, more hazy and inconsistent. Ah, yes, he would break out of this cell right now. Washington had just betrayed him, and he would race to save his village from the Patriots. But with him raced Father, for he this time chose to sacrifice his duties as an assassin for his revenge and his people. It was the beginning of a golden new age, where Charles Lee was installed as the figurehead first King of America while the Father and Son manipulated the young country's future through him. It was a glorious celebration that followed, as Templar influence completed enveloped the Americas and was strengthened by their efforts worldwide. The Assassins fell quickly, and Haytham traveled to Italy to execute the captured mentor Alberico Auditore personally. And as the two smiled over their new world order as it was built before their eyes, Connor told Haytham one thing.

"Konoronhkwa, father."

"My son, you easily could've easily turned your back on me that night when you learned the truth about the village. But you joined us in allegiance, Connor, why?"

"For I have already lost a mother, and I seek no interest in losing my father, even if it means turning my back on the Creed."

And he would wake up confused and sweating.

In this case, he was woken up before the dream could again run its course by a loud explosion coming from the cell door. Connor's eyes snapped open as he popped up, reaching for anything he could use as weapon. He found nothing, but he bent his body into an impromptu fighting stance. He saw in front of him not an executioner but a wretched husk of an old man dressed in a hooded brown ragged-excuse of robes. The man carried with him an impossibly thick book.

"Are you the Father?" Connor demanded.

"I know I am not the Father, and the book would've shown if you were to meet him at this time." The man beckoned for Connor to follow him.

"Are you… one of the ones who came before?"

"No, for I have walked and read from this book long before I read of their time. Normally, I do not read out of my garden but the book has shown that I am to play a part in your liberation." The figure continued up instead of down, to the very rooftop.

"What are you?" Connor demanded again. "Can you help me defeat Desmond?"

"The book told me that you were to ask that, and yet I still regret telling you that it is not written that I will play a part in the battle against the mad king. Think of me, Connor, as the teller-of-stories-to-no-one. I have read, and I will read, every story that is to be. Your story, your father's story, even the stories of those who will never exist in your world like the plumber who flew in space and the city in the sky. I will read them all to completion, and even when those stories have long been turned back, there will be new stories for me to read. Until I reach the last page."

"Destiny and pre-destination? But I was told that the future… it was not set in stone…"

"What is Destiny, Connor? It is an illusion or truth, or perhaps something in the between? I have come closest to answering that question than any other entity, and yet many questions escape even my knowledge. Come Connor, this is where we part. I bit you farewell, Kenway, and may you find the answer to your questions."

Connor turned but the old man and his book were gone. In front of him was a stone plank, eagle resting. Somehow, he knew that there was to be a pile of hay or leaves underneath just waiting to cushion his fall. And without hesitation, he stepped onto the plank. Balancing on his feet, he took in the surroundings around him. Shining in its full glory was the capitol city, the outskirts burning in civil war. In faith, he leapt and the air whooshed past him and he became lost in the bliss of falling until he hit the hay below.

* * *

He wandered through the bombed-out ruins of a small district, the shadows forever emblazoned on the walls as small memorials long looted and desecrated stood testament to the fallen.

He saw the people before long, and before he could approach them he felt strong hands tug at his back and he was pulled into a dark alleyway. His instinctive reaction was to break free from the hold, grabbing at his side for a tomahawk that wasn't there. He tried to pop out blades from bracers that were no longer there. The stranger withdrew from his coat a shining revolver. Connor, perhaps, if he were quick enough could dispatch the stranger. But the man spoke to him.

"Been a long time since I've run into a normal fellow in this part of the city. The Father, you know, rounded up most of the populace here in the first wave of his experimentations. I know what you're thinking of doing, but I highly advise against it. Unless you want this gun to go off and all of those things in the street come swarming in here."

"Another stranger in a night of meeting strangers. Tell me, who are you? Maybe we could learn to work together." Connor demanded as he nervously scanned the area around him, hoping to find something he could use as a weapon.

"Before the Father released his experiments into his sector after he bombed it out to weed out the rebels, they called me…. I don' know. I've spent so much time in these ruins, running from safehouse to safehouse like I was the last man in reality that the Father hadn't turned into one of his monstrosities that in all honesty my name means nothing to me anymore. My memories have blurred. I don't remember my mother's face or voice, I forgot anything that wasn't beneficial to making sure that I live to see another day. It's a tragedy, but sometimes the only thing worth dying for is survival. Or is it the other way around? Either way, we ought to shut up. They're passing this alley right now and the slightest of sounds could alert them."

The stranger pulled Connor down and they crouched in the shadows as a mob passed by. The mob all walked with an erratic, stumbling gait. A rotten smell filled Connor's nostrils as they passed by and he almost gagged in revolt. He noticed their heads, covered entirely by a large mask painted white with red cheeks. An abnormal smile was carved into the masks. The masks were ticking, a red light going on and off.

"What are those?" Connor whispered.

"The first batch of experiments. They're the prototypes, and the ruins are filled to the brim with them. He programmed the masks to explode, and once they get close to you… I've seen enough ambushed resistance fighters…"

"Who could do such a thing to his fellow…"

"The Father, whatever darkness propels him, can. The inner city is completely under his control by now, and all the people there are willingly in his subservience. He thinks he's making them equal and happy…"

"They ought to be long gone by now…"

"Hate to say this, but we can't stick together. I've never had someone else accompany me, and I can't risk either of us becoming a liability to our survival. Here, take this. I got it from trading in the museum for myself, but you might as well have something to defend yourself. There's a resistance safehouse there. They've probably evacuated by now, but there might still be some supplies you can scavenge. Stick to the rooftops. They can't climb." And the Stranger pressed something into Connor's hand, and he was off into the skyline, bouncing from wall to wall.

"I have to learn that maneuver." Connor commented as he pulled himself up a nearby ladder. He looked at what he had been given. A hidden blade.

* * *

This was the museum, or what remained of it. The roof of the museum burned as smoke billowed into the night sky and chunks had caved in. He slowly descended, accidentally knocking over a pile of empty soda cans as he landed. He heard a ticking as soon as he had time to look at the cans, and he whirled around to see one of the prototypes that the Stranger had told him running at him inconsistently. Connor, threw one of the cans. Knocking the attacker over, it writhed over and over until the ticking grew louder and a bright orange explosion billowed from the attacker incinerating it.

Panting, Connor continued to the museum. He noticed the three statues that beamed over him. He read the inscription. These three men had died aiding the Father in his final battle against King Desmond. With a shudder, he recognized the three as he read how they died.

_**Altair Ibn-La'ahad – As he made his final leap of faith, the King vaporized him in midair with his dreadful fapple powers.**_

_**Ezio Auditore da Firenze – Even with the mighty Iron Assassin armor equipped, he too fell as the King swiftly decapitated him with his bare hands.**_

_**Haytham Kenway – A father sacrificed himself, taking the killing blow meant for a son. And in that moment, the Father was born. And a King fell that day.**_

"Father… I am sorry. I have strayed from the light." And Connor walked away.

He continued to the museum, and tried to push open the metal door. It didn't budge. He knocked, and there was no answer. Then he heard the scuffling coming from the other side. Rushing towards the sound, Connor was amazed as he saw the battle unfolding in front of him.

There was a mixture of two different uniformed factions battling it out, while the things in the masks continuously drowned both sides in baths of fire as they were swept up in frenzied melee. Connor wished that the Stranger had told him what the resistance fighters looked like. He didn't want to end up choosing the wrong side and finding himself in the joyful service of the Father. Either way, he'd have to make a decision quick. Already, fighters from both sides were rushing at him with intent to kill.

The one in the furtive white reached him first, and Connor quickly reacted by driving the hidden blade up his attacker's throat. As the body collapsed, the other attacker, one in black rags, withdrew and returned to the fray of the battle. Looks like he had made his choice. Other men and women in white were attempting to reach grab at him now. An authoritative man in fancier black than the others shouted at Connor. "Catch this, kid! You'll need a lot more than a tiny pop-out knife if you want to stay alive in this part of town!"

A bottle full of fluid landed in Connor's hand. _Great Willow Tea – Wolf flavor_. After some hesitation at the label, Connor popped out the cork and took a deep swig as he kicked one of the attackers away. Suddenly, his chest cramped and he dropped to his knees.

"What… what is happening to me?" Connor demanded as his skin turned pale and for brief seconds he saw white fur bursting from his palms. He heard the howling of a wolf pack, growing closer and closer as his chest further packed. It hurt so much, as if a nuclear explosion went off in each of his individual cells. He was howling himself, he noticed. With a snarl, the people attacking him were all cut down. If Connor squinted, he saw the dim outlines of wolves.

"Great Willow Tea, fresh from the Father's laboratory!" The man in black told him as he transformed into the shape of an eagle and landed on the rooftop, before descending down in the shape of a bear and knocking back several white uniforms and masked-men.

"We stole it, from one of our hit-and-runs! Father intended to ship this first batch to the frontlines, but we got it instead! Pleased to have another one join the brawl!" The man in black yelled to Connor as he tossed him a saber.

"And who would you be?" Connor asked as he decapitated a girl aiming at him with a minigun by tossing the saber at her in a circular motion.

"Matthew Kenway."

"But aren't the Kenways the Father's fami-"

"You think all of us to be like poor sister Charlotte? Near subservient with our freedom taken from us and ripped apart? No, I escaped before he could make me like one of his favorite special children. I would much rather die fighting free with my ragged band of true family then live in the false splendor the Father has set up." As Matthew broke the neck of a man trying to rush in and stab him with a shiv.

* * *

"I have to thank you, you know, for intervening when you did. Don't know if we could've gotten out of here as cleanly as we have without your help." Matthew stated as he and Connor looked at the rows upon rows of dead bodies in white. His underlings were now looting the corpses, a practice Connor still disapproved of.

"What are your plans?" Connor asked as he stared at something bright in the distance. Maybe a bonfire, but it seemed to be getting closer.

"We were planning on moving to another safehouse befire we were attacked, but now I'm not so sure. The Father's likely to have become onto us, as it was an ambush. A unit that we weren't tracking for the previous months. Speaking of, you never told me your name…"

"Ratonhnhake:ton."

"Is that one of the old languages? The ones that the Father outlawed in favor of the Allspeak he created? Is it Swahili? Irish Chinese? Jewtalk?"

"It is Mohawk. But most people just called me Connor."

"Connor, huh? What a coincidence. Mother used to tell me that was what they called Father, back when he was still the son. Those were the old days… before he strangled her and brainwashed his bastard. I'm one of the few in our twisted family to acknowledge her as blood, but that matters little. She's an enemy to my cause, and I will have to kill her if we cross paths. I'll probably have to kill all of my family by the time my rebellion is done. But spilling family blood is something I have to do. For the only thing worth murdering for is fulfillment."

"What sort of logic is that- Wait, Matthew, what is that coming in the distance?" Connor pointed in surprise at the great wave of fire trailing towards them. Men and women in black were screaming as the flames consumed them, reducing flesh and bone to nothing but specks of dust.

"No… shit… it can't be…. He wouldn't come out of his palace just to deal with an insignificant – no aw, fucking piles of vomited horse shit." Connor saw that at the head of the great wave of fire was a rider on a pale horse. To Connor's bewilderment the man was setting himself ablaze, cackling wickedly as he and his horse were transformed into blazing skeletons. The laugher unnerved Connor, there was something so instantly familiar about it. Matthew was readying his willow powers, transforming himself into an eagle and launching himself at the blazing rider. As his talons were primed to rip apart the fiery bones, Connor's eyes dropped in anguish as Matthew was swatted aside. Matthew hit the ground with an umph and skidded several meters, and the rider braked his horse, returning to a human appearance. As the hooves of the pale horse touched a surviving trooper, the head of the trooper burst.

"Matthew Kenway. So I reunite with you at last, the prodigal son." The Father smiled at Matthew in a paternal approach, no signs of malice in his expression.

"You won't take alive, you son of a bitch!" Matthew screamed as he rushed the father as a rampaging bear. He was swat aside again, and this time the Father teleported in a wisp of smoke to the ground where Matthew lay.

"Who told you those were my intentions? I merely seek to eliminate a liability, like I did when I wrapped my hands against your mother's scrawny neck." Matthew was trying to escape from the Father's grasp, punching and kicking wildly.

"Come now, Matthew. For all your skills, you're still a boy with much to learn. And much of what you have learned you learnt from me." The Father flung Matthew against a crumbling wall, bringing down an entire six-story structure down on him. Matthew recovered and flew away as an eagle before he could be crushed, but the Father somehow mentally snatched him from the sky.

"The spirit powers… what a neat little batch of tricks. Invisibility, your own pack of attack doggies, flight… it's a fanboy's wet dream. But these powers are a mere facsimile of the wonders that I control and like everything that's come out of my mind I've built safeguards against them. What can you do, Matthew, if someone like a guy with the power to make the fabric of reality his bitch took them from you?" Grasping Matthew's head with his palm, the Father appeared to be sapping the very life from the rebel leader. Connor witnessed the scene with horror and he desperately wished to intervene. But something was holding him back.

Matthew, now a shriveled husk of skin, dropped to his knees. "Ah, children." The Father was speaking. "You are the reason why we parents live, but sometimes you just become too much of a pain in the arse to handle. And even with our attempts to discipline… you refuse to fall back in line. Disappointment. That is what I see when I look at you, Matthew."

The Father was pointing his fingers at Matthew, in the shape of a gun.

"Tell your mother when you see her that I regret nothing I did to either of you. And… BANG." Matthew slumped.

The Father turned to look at Connor. "Hello, Connor. Figured you'd get out of the Dark Tower eventually. I knew you would, because this was the day that I originally escaped and where we first met."

"I don't know you… you… monster!" Connor snarled at the Father as he looked at the corpse of Matthew.

"Monster? Just how do you measure that in a man? With pots and spoons? With thermometers or rulers? Monsters are just a matter of perspective. And from my perspective, I am doing what is right for the world. It's just you rebellious folks who cling to your false notions of freedom who view any sort of progressive control as oppression who create the monsters out of their flawed worldviews. But I am already changing that, with each rebel captured and sent to the chop shops. I presume you met my precious little kitten, Charlotte?"

"Who are you?" Connor demanded.

"Come now, Connor. Are you really that oblivious to what has been dangled in front of you or do you just like asking pointless questions, like 'where is Lee?' Take a nice, long, look at the leader of this brave new world. Connor, don't you see? I AM YOUR SHADOW!" The Father laughed at him.

"Impossible! I would never become you! I am no monster! I am not a tyrant like you or Desmond! I would never take the freedom from the people who fought to win it!"

"And that is what I used to believe, too! But what you refuse to see is that sometimes, you have to make sacrifices to make sure that everything works out in the end. I lost my father when we finally learned to love each other in the final battle against Desmond, and what for? To return to the prime reality, where I lose everything again? For the Assassin's Creed to prevent you from taking revenge on the man who killed your mother, to force you into murdering your father? Admit it, Connor, you don't want that. I am doing what you will, in time given its due course."

"You are not me! You have to be another Connor! THERE ARE WORLDS OTHER THAN THESE!" Connor protested.

"Do you see any other Connor's running around? You see, Desmond never really understood what having the power was. He just controlled a mere fragment… the Fapple. But without the Fapple, he was nothing in spite of what he could accomplish with hit. But I have the power. I am reality. I assimilated or wiped out most of them… the other Connor's. But I need you alive. For you see, you are where I began and you are where I will end. We are one in one, Connor. We are the Father."

"Lies… the future is not set in stone. I'm not you… I won't be you!"

"And that's what they wanted you to believe. But too late for both us – the third installment where all continuity goes to fuck itself was released afterwards."

While the Father was talking, Connor tried to will the wolfpack to appear again and finish off his new nemesis. But his furry friends did not come, no matter how hard he willed. The Father smiled at him.

"Looking for someone? Thought you might try that… because that's what I did when we first met. But unfortunately for you, this isn't Die Hard. You can't pull a yippee ki-yay motherfucker out of nowhere when the odds are stacked against you here. Not when you're up against someone who can sap your powers from you just by thinking about it. But I'm not an unfair master… here, have a free shot." The Father kept smiling as he tossed Connor a loaded revolver.

There was a shot that broke the silence of the dark, and Connor dropped the revolver as the round fired. As the smoke cleared from his shaking hands, he saw the gaping bullet hole in the Father's hand and the Father shaking his head in disapproval, like a parent disciplining a naughty child.

"As expected, I give you the opportunity to pull the trigger and kill me. End my tyranny, give the people the freedom that you so want them to enjoy. But you don't take it. And do you know why? Because there is a part of you deep down that wants all of this, the power. Don't deny it, Connor. Why else would I have become who I am today, beloved tyrant and father, if I hadn't had this within the whole time?"

"Quiet! I am not you and you will die by my hand!" Connor rushed at the Father, readying his hidden blade. But the Father stopped his killing blow, holding it mere centimeters from his face and kicked Connor away.

"You've been behaving quite naughty lately, Connor. I think it's time I took your toys away, and you sit in the corner." The Father snapped his fingers and to Connor's shock his hidden blade morphed to a snake-like wraith of melted metal. Shock quickly turned to pain as the snake wrapped around his arm and bled into his flesh. To his horror, Connor's skin was turning rotten colors and falling from his arms in chunks of flesh, exposing the bare bone to the infertile air.

"What the hell have you done to me?" Connor demanded. The Father conjured up a mirror, holding it in front of Connor. What had happened to h is arm was happening to his entire body. Second by second, skin flaked off and flesh peeled off and hair feel in meaty increments. Near nothing was left of Connor, nothing but a skeleton with his eyes poking out in boney sockets in his bloodied Assassin robes with some flesh still attached. He was still alive somehow, he could still speak, he could still feel. Connor lurched onto the Father, attempting to strangle the mockery of him once and for all.

"Come now… Connor. You can't hope to outmatch yourself out of all opponents. Especially yourself when you have far more experience." The Father dislocated Connor's left shin.

"You know yourself… I will never give in!" Connor determinedly dug his bony fingers into the Father's flesh, drawing glowing blood from wounds that patched themselves instantly.

"Have you taken a look in the mirror lately, Connor? You're nothing but a dodo." A blow to Connor, taking more of his bones. "A moa." Another blow. "Chinese river dolphins!" His ribs shattered. "The quagga!" Connor's jaw dislocated, his tongue dangled out. "Great auk! Passenger pigeon! The coelacanth! Take your fucking pick, Connor! You're nothing but a relic of a clumsy, antiquated age that deserves no place in a utopian modern society! This is a world that needs no secret brotherhoods, where no ancient war will tear apart a young boy dreams of a loving family!"

"You betrayed everything I believe in!" Connor yelled as he continued to fight as the Father sliced off his right arm.

"So it may be… but when you see what a black, awful joke the world is you'll understand why I did what I did." The Father rammed his fist into Connor's chest, crushing his heart.

"I will stop you… this… this.. isn't over… It never will be." Connor, with his dying breaths and efforts, embedded his bony fingers into the Father's flesh, drawing glowing blood of celestial wonder that twinkled in fantastic colors when you looked at it from wounds that patched themselves instantly.

"I believe it is." The Father smiled. "I'll have to wipe your memory now, can't have you attempt to formulate any plans to change the future. Doesn't matter if I don't, since this is how everything will end up once you defeat Desmond, but I don't like the possibility of liabilities. Don't worry, Connor, you'll get your memories back. And Destiny will run its right course. Good-bye, Connor. Look forward to becoming me soon." His body heat intensifying, he lit himself ablaze again, becoming the flaming skeleton once more. He engulfed Connor in fire, burning away the last remnants of Connor's flesh and charring the bones beyond recognition. The Father raised his boot, crushing the scorched crisp that had been Connor's skull as it rolled from his corpse along the ground.


	19. Continuation

"Aaaah!" Connor scream shocked Leonardo da Vinci as the Native Assassin sprung back to life, his wild thrashing knocking over the painting that da Vinci had been working on as Connor slept. da Vinci quickly hit what he had drawn underneath his coat. Connor confusedly looked at the workshop around him, the inventions, machines, and paintings hanging around haphazardly. This wasn't where he remembered he had been before the dream… where was Duccio? He looked down at his arms. Someone had reassembled them. He hoped that they wouldn't blow up on him.

"Who… who are you?" Connor demanded cautiously as he noticed da Vinci, who was innocently trying to hide the evidence that he had been sketching the sleeping Connor.

"Don't you remember? I was there at the bar with you! I'm Leonardo da Vinci, the famous inventor and artist!" da Vinci replied as he crammed the set of paints under the bed.

"da Vinci? I remember your name from somewhere… ah yes, the woodworker on the Homestead tried to replicate your flying machine. I nearly drowned testing out the damn thing. So much for flying." Connor spat at da Vinci.

"Ah, such fond memories your words give me! I remember the day me and Ezio first built the machine and he tested it out. Oh, I felt so disheartened after the failure of that run I tried to destroy all my research and papers but behold, that was how I realized how to fly! Tell me, were you flying over fires to fuel the machine?" da Vinci asked Connor.

"No. Lance… my woodworker, just had me fly off the cliff directly. No wonder why it failed, if fire was the key as you say. It seems as when I get back, there is someone who is deserving of me attacking them in the face with my toma- hey, where is it?"

"Um… you see, when they let me take you with me after I had gotten my Playgirl magazines, I went over you. A part-metal man? That piqued my interest! How amazing! The technology here is pretty bizarre and all, but I have never seen anything like you! And you see, I made a few adjustments to some of your weaponry. As thanks for making my day." da Vinci quickly glanced under the bedside where he had hidden the paintings he'd drawn of the naked sleeping Connor.

"Well, uomo scuro, I saw that you were carrying both a sword and an accetta with you. I wondered to myself, wouldn't this uomo scuro have great difficulty choosing which to use in the heart of a heated battle! Surely, even with his incredibile mechanical reinforcements he'd fall due to indecision! And as such, I melted your weapons. And with a bit of mad improvising and genius… ta da! I call it, the Barra Ascia! Or the Slash Axe, if your Italian happens to be rusty." da Vinci proudly took out a contraption that was the size of Connor's old tomahawk. With the flick of a simple mechanism present on the device, the tomahawk blade speedily folded out into a semi-long blade.

"Thanks… I guess." Connor held his new weapon in his grip firmly, decapitating one of Leonardo's large wooden dummies.

"Ah, old da Vinci sees that your talent with gratitude isn't too well versed. But never mind that… the Barra Ascia was the least I could do in thanks for the findings I derived from examining you." da Vinci smiled at Connor. "How about some gelato, before we part?"

"I guess I will take you up on your offer. It has been a while since I last ate. You say you were looking over me as I slept?" Connor asked as da Vinci pulled out some pints of gelato from a homemade freezer.

"Don't take that the wrong way…" da Vinci tried to hide the growing fear of being discovered in his eyes from Connor. "It was just to look at you. The Serpente Mangiatore had done quite a number on you. I could not recover your guns alas, but I figured that I would take a look at your mechanical parts and see what I could learn from them. I even made a few adjustments to your tech! See your… you know what those are, right? The trademark weapons of a secret brotherhood dedicated to the preservation of human freedom and independence! I made a few myself, to to tell the truth."

"I know what these are, and I know who this Brotherhood you talk of were. But this is a different world, and Desmond has changed their meaning into something much drastic."

Connor popped out his hidden blades. Whereas they had only been pop outs when he had escaped from Desmond's city, they were now engineered similar to the ones he had worn. Popped out into the palm of his hands, to be wielded as a dagger.

Connor finished his gelato. "It is time that I depart. Thank you for the 'gelato.' But I must find Lincoln before Desmond does."

Connor found his clothes, and began putting them on. He wondered if he should tell Leonardo that he was aware of the paintings, or if he should relish the man's nervousness a bit longer. da Vinci was piping up again.

"Just before you go, uomo scuro… I added my number to your list of contacts in that fancy communication device that was built in to your machine programming. I hope you don't mind. You can call me at the number 144.73. If you see anything odd relating to technology or weaponry in your travels, you can call me and I'll do my best to fill you in on how it works! I also added some of my contacts to your list as well, in case you have questions that I cannot answer."

"That is fine… but I doubt I will have much use for that. I can always look it up on the internet, you know." Connor replied.

"Too bad then, but at least I tried. Hey, come back some time! I can let you test out some of my new toys and give you a real flying machine ride!" da Vinci told Connor as he walked out the door of the workshop. As soon as Connor had shut the door, da Vinci breathed a heavy sigh of relief and stored his paintings of Connor in the safe, where he would soon revisit eagerly once Salai got home with the rubber gloves and vaseline.

Outside, Connor looked over his list of contacts. He wouldn't call any of them just yet, but he decided to look for a few new numbers. He scanned the airwaves. He found what he was looking for, scanned it to be sure, and dialed.

* * *

**From the diary of Haytham Kenway, Forsaken.**

At first, I thought that I truly was contributing to something of a worthwhile cause when I found myself grouped with the band of rebels led by the overly enigmatic Clay, who has now taken to calling himself El Presidente Dieciseis. His ludicrous outfit, what he calls a Mexican sombrero and poncho, are complemented by a flat-out obvious stick-on piece of facial hair and a high-pitched squeaky accent with the word senor at the end of nearly every sentence he says. He assures me that it's all part of an act. With the first few victories over Desmond Miles's forces, perhaps we were. But it has become a nonstop ride of conquests of nameless frontier towns, with no attempts made to actually penetrate the heart or vitals of Desmond's operations. Clay assures me that our battles are lowering their morale while raising ours, but I doubt it. The men we lose for the paltry sums we gain are not exactly the things that provide the seeds of morale. Sometimes, I consider killing the fool and taking over the operation. The men would support me, I am sure of that. I eavesdrop on their grumblings, and the grumblings grow every day.

I also think of my son, Connor. By this point, I have come to assume that he has died in the city, unknown and unloved for the majority of his life. I regret not taking the opportunity to ever take him aside, perhaps attempt to set aside our warring ideologies and realize that we were family and that we shouldn't have let an ancient, petty war ruin what potential that we had for the future. But it is far too late for that now. If he was alive, we would've found him by now.

There was a strange incident that happened to me earlier today, as I lazed around in my private mess hall, waiting for the chef to prepare my roast beef and potatoes. Clay had provided many of us with surplus supplies he had made from bargaining with some other of the resistance groups, some of these supplies being some sort of long-distance devices used to keep individuals in contact with each other. As I took another sip of my tea, prim and proper like the way a Kenway should drink his tea, my device started ringing to signal a caller. I answered, but there was no response as I asked over and over who it was. But I could tell that someone was on the other end listening before I hang up. What do you think happened to me, if someone does happen to get their hands on this diar-I mean journal and read my words?

As I finally got my roast beef and potatoes, Clay waltzed in on me. I called him by his name, causing him to become rather indignant. He demanded that refer to him as El Presidente, but I then called him Subject Sixteen, causing him to threaten to demote me and try me for treason. But I simply stared at him with the long, burrowing glare that a proper Kenway masters, and he backed down. I asked him what his business was, and he told me that I had a couple new assignments to choose from.

He informed me of the status of Lincoln's March to the Sea. They had been routing Hickey's forces and succeeded in pushing Desmond's troops back to the last vital seaside port. But something had changed, and the fighting was close to being reduced to a trench-based stalemate. I asked Clay what had happened, surely Hickey hadn't managed to sober up at the last second. Clay explained that Desmond had sacked Hickey from his position, he had been replaced with a new general who had rallied up Desmond's troops and were getting extremely close to pushing back Lincoln's army. I asked who this general was, and Clay told me with a genuine shudder that it appeared to be none other than the famed Assassin that even I respected, Altair Ibn-La'Ahad. He informed me that my first option was to infiltrate the town of Full Moon Cove, where the battle was taking place. Make my way through the battlefield and assassinate Altair before anyone knew what had happened. I angrily informed Clay that running my way through battlefields wasn't my style, that Connor would've been more suitable if he were still alive.

Clay sighed and told me that I would be to blame if Lincoln failed on his March to the Sea. I asked him what my other option was, and to my relief he confirmed that it would be a sneaking mission. He told me that the man I had seen during my first encounter with Desmond, Shaun Hastings, had fallen out of favor with the King. The man had been exiled to a prison base on one of the northern-most islands, under heavy guard. Clay told me that he knew of Hastings's talent in cranking out effective propaganda efficiently, that it might serve our goals well if we could extract him to our side. I agreed with him for once, told him that I would undergo the mission. He told me to meet with him later at an official debriefing for further details.

There are a few more things that I would feel fitting to add before I conclude this entry in my journal. I've had a bizarre series of dreams ever since my last physical meeting with Desmond. Sometimes, I'm a despicable pervert again, pulling the clothes off of a girl who resembles my son while the disembodied voice of my father Edward encourages me. Other dreams I'm on a ship, my father Edward at the captain's helm. This surprises me, as despite knowing that he was an assassin, no one had told me that he was a dreaded pirate captain as well. Even more shocking, the dark brown hair that I remembered him having in the dream was now blonde. He called me a disgrace, drinking tea instead of rum, and staying faithful to one woman instead of having the time of my life with all the wenches in the world. My son pulled up to our boat in his ship, and Edward waved to him. Edward called Connor the son that he wished I could've been, and with Connor, could finally blot me from his memory. The last thing I heard in this dream was their laughter as my father and son impaled me with their blades and threw me overboard.

Other dreams I've had I'm living in a far technologically advanced world. I'm the head of the Templars, but in this world they are something that's called a corporation. Many businesses from all corners of the world are under my heel. The entirety of Hollywood, Valve, Microsoft, Starbucks, In-n-Out Burger, Ubisoft (and I'm personally responsible for the annualization of Prince of Persia), so much money coming to the Templars. The Assassins, although they call themselves the Davenport Corporation in this world, are still our enemies but their new CEO, the old man, is considering a merger with us. My lover Ziio is still alive in this dream, and we have married. She, although objecting to the morality of my work, remains by my side faithfully. My father still died in this world when I was a young lad, so that is regrettable. It was only a pity that I woke up before I could see what had become of my boy… my son Connor… in this world.

The last dream that I had was the worst of all. I woke up in a burning city, the streets littered with the dead. All resembling my friends from Charles to Holden and what family I had left like my sister Jenny. Slitting the throat of Desmond was a nightmarish figure, so ghastly and inhuman that I can't come up with any fitting words to describe his full nature other than distilled evil, pure evil, etc. I yelled at him, demanding to know what he had done and why he had slaughtered so many innocents. He laughed at me, asking if I were any different. _How are those redcoat prisoners doing, Haytham? They had no knowledge of our conflict, they were only following what they knew of the orders that had been given. Yet you tortured and slaughtered them regardless, leaving families orphaned and widowed. Don't act like you have some right to judge when you have proven you're just as much a savage as I. _I yelled at him again, demanding to know how he knew all this about me. _I've gone by many names, Haytham. The Cyborg Assassin, the half-breed, the Father, the Master, the Doctor, Ratonhnhake:ton, but I think you know me best as this…_ The last thing I saw in the dream before he advanced on me bloodthirsty and merciless was the face of my son.


	20. Battle for the Coast

Another contingent of Lincoln's troops rushed back to the safety of the trench as Desmond's assassins pushed them back. They fled as cannons and rifles felled their fellows, darkening the dusty grassy plains with fresh stains of blood. "Look at the size of their ranks!" One of the men stationed near the wire-defended trench screamed. "Millions must be pouring out of that town!" In fear, many men were abandoning their posts and scrambling behind the trenches for safety, running from the battlefield.

"Goddamn you cowards! Maintain your positions and fight on!" Lt. David yelled to no avail. Disgusted, he took out a cigarette and lit it, preparing himself for the inevitable moment where King Desmond's forces would overwhelm their defenses and kill them all. Pitiful, they had gotten so close to taking the entire Southern coastline before Desmond had replaced General Hickey with a far more effective leader who had succeeded in delaying their advance and was close to pushing them back. He would eventually had to find Lincoln, advise him to evacuate.

Connor confusedly looked at the swarm of men deserting the battlefield in front of him. Was this not the amazing Lincoln army that so many people in this fucking story have told him to find? One of soldiers was approaching him now, trying to ward him off. "Oh, you wouldn't want to go there. Certain death for sure." Connor grabbed him by the lapels and threw him high into the atmosphere. Connor continued to the outermost rim of the trenches as men continued to pour by him crying and proclaiming the day lost. He interestingly noted with some amusement that he had seen none of the women run yet, the females that were still present were still fighting as a young red-headed lass screamed as a sniper's bullet went through her eye and she slumped to the ground. There was a lone pale horse left in the stables. Connor briefly remembered a similar horse, but he could not pinpoint where he had seen it. It was like a dream he had had…

"Tell me, what has happened here?" Connor asked to Lt. David who had retired to the stables, on his tenth cigarette. "Were you not the army of astonishing rebels that I was told to seek out?" The Lt. shrugged at him.

"We routed them for fifteen whole skirmishes, pushing them along like we were a giant bipedal tank raining death upon a defenseless horde of rats. But Desmond must've caught on… he swapped out the incompetent as rusty nails General Hickey for someone they called Altair… and before you know it, damn Assassins are kicking our asses. We're running a thinning gauntlet now… before you know it, Lincoln will be calling for a retreat and we'll have lost everything we gained on our little march." Lt. David offered Connor one of his cigarettes, and Connor took it. They shared a little smoke together.

"What would I have to do, to turn the tide of battle?" Connor looked at a contingent of Lincoln's men being blown to bits by the Assassins in the distance as bombing planes blocked off their routes of retreat.

"You think you can win an entire battle, by yourself? You might as well charge right into town underneath a box of cardboard and hope they don't notice." Lt. David scoffed.

"You'd be surprised. I've done my fair bit of… travelling." Connor winked at him.

"Well, you seem crazy enough to be able to do it… but do you are you willful enough to survive it?" Lt. David asked Connor.

"What?" Connor piped up in surprise.

"Something my boss at the Special Forces unit I trained with before I came to… this place taught me along with the basic shit like combat and survival. Never give up. Fight until the end. Always believe that you will succeed, even when the odds are against you. Those were his very words. Impressionable words to me but hey, I was still very much the impressionable kid back then. And it's kept me alive till now in this weird place… enough to get me from green-ass rookie to hardening-ass lieutenant." David smoked another cigarette.

"Tell me what I have to do." Lt. David handed Connor a pair of binoculars. Lt. David guided Connor as he scanned the battlefield.

"Getting through the battlefield will be enough of a problem, even without the constant bombings and shellings. Ever since Altair took over, the hand-to-hand fighting and shooting skills of Desmond's troopers has increased. Even Hickey has sobered up, and while demoted, he now leads the frontlines. But if you were to eliminate him, perhaps we could unbalance the fight upfront long enough to regain our charge. The flight through town should be easy enough, provided you avoid getting into any skirmishes and the bombings. General Altair is holed up on one of those ships, if you scan far enough you can catch a glimpse of him over there, eating that kebab…"

Connor glimpsed a man in white Assassin robes with a missing finger on one of his hands. It actually was Altair, straight out of the Assassin history books that Achilles read to him before he slept at nights on the Homestead. Connor had idolized Altair, even more so than Ezio who Achilles had also read to him of, and would regret having to kill a fellow Assassin. But something was off… there was something about the appearance of the Assassin that…

"It's not the real Altair. It's a puppet!" Connor gasped.

"What?" David snatched the binoculars from Connor and peered at the ships. "Holy shit… you're right! Desmond's been whupping us with a fucking piece of wood!"

"Someone has to be controlling the puppet. But why would a puppeteer so talented at his craft turn his pursuits towards war? Doesn't he care about all the men he has killed through that mockery of Altair?"

"Killing is just one of those things that gets easier more the more you do it. At least that's what my old boss told us as we trained. He told us these freaky stories sometimes, about how he once met the ghosts of all the men he had killed in one mission…"

"I once investigated ghosts out of curiosity in between my work as an assassin in the revolution. Disappointing. One at the lighthouse turned out be someone's bedsheet and the other ghost was just some lunatic dressed up with a pumpkin on his head. But if he's a puppeteer turned war general… he must be pretty desperate for work. Perhaps we could turn that desperation in our favor. Maybe we don't need to kill him."

"Negotiations in the midst of battle? You have to be bonkers… but hey, your plan's worth a shot. Count me in. I'd rather get shredded out there by bullets then stand here and wait for my ass to get speared by a fucking puppet."

"Do you think that you are up to par? I have been cybernetically enhanced… you appear normal and not as durable. Are you sure about this?" Connor asked in concern as he finished his cigarette.

"Ever since Iraq… I haven't felt alive unless I was surrounded by hostiles ready to die. Besides, what difference will the two of us really make out there?"

"Tell me, lieutenant. What is your name?" Connor asked. "In case you do die and I survive, I want to inform what family you do have…"

"One of the first things Boss taught me was that names meant nothing on the battlefield. But hey, since this probably gonna get the two of us killed, might as well divulge. Call me David."

"David, huh? One of my friends back home was named David. He used to be a soldier, just like you. Call me Connor, David." Connor mounted the pale horse as he spoke the words. "It's now or never, David. Go out in a blaze of glory or retreat to fight another day if another day comes?"

"It's show-time, Connor."

The two, riding the horses, leapt over the boundaries of the trench. Those who were present were amazed by the recklessness and the braveness of these two men who were riding to their sure dooms. As the riders dodged a volley of trained rifle fire and leapt over bombs, one of the officers yelled to his underlings to fetch General Lincoln. As the lanky man in the black hat approached them peering out of his telescope, even he too opened his mouth in amazement as he watched the riders fire blasts from their handguns taking out swaths of Assassin Troops before dismounting and taking cover behind a large boulder as cover from incoming cannon fire. The horses continued through unharmed by the blast, trampling multiple Assassins underneath their hooves. As the smoke cleared, Connor and David emerged from behind the boulder and charged the shocked Assassins. Lt. David snatched an Assassin and quickly slit her throat while Connor embedded his tomahawk into the skull of another Assassin and swapping its blade to sword mode sliced the Assassin's head in two. Behind them, troops were spilling out from the trenches, ready to rejoin the fight. Lincoln led the charge, boarding a motherfucking grizzly bear as he mowed down hordes of Assassins with an AK-47. Badass Motherfucker Steve joined the battle, swooping in and massacring the Assassins on top of a giant bald eagle with his bare hands. And before the Assassins knew what had hit them, FDR showed up in a motherfucking suit of motherfucking mecha death armor. It was fucking America, and it had come to save the motherfucking day once again.

Connor had fought his way to the enemy trenches, snatching a female Assassin and using her body to shield him from another volley of rifle file. He lodged a grenade in her bullet-riddled body and flung it back at the Assassins who were reloading their guns, sending them up in a great ball of fire. He snatched a rifle from a nearby Assassin, swinging the weapon's butt at the approaching Assassins, breaking several necks and decapitating multiple heads. Alongside charging into the trench with him was Lt. David, blinding one Assassin in the eye with his cigarette before quickly planting some C4 on the Assassin. As the two scrambled past the first trench, the Assassins left behind went boom. Brute Assassins with large weapons and massive padding were rushing at them now but Lt. David punctured their armor with his knife and Connor finished them off by grinding their insides to dust with his Cyborg Assassin strength.

"Oh pickles, what is good name is happening?" questioned Sober Hickey as the Assassins in front of him were being reduced to blood and bone.

Then he saw the Cyborg Assassin in mid-air with something in his hands. Something bow-like and arrow-y.

"Oh, fudge. And my day was going oh so fabulously." said Sober Hickey as the arrow flew threw the air and hit his neck.

As the smoke around them cleared, Connor prepared to finish Hickey off. But something was wrong…

"No, no, no, no, Connor. Not the face. Not the face. I work so hard to get my face this FABULOUS AND ALCOHOL FREE!" Sober Hickey told him.

"What have they done to you, Hickey? You were once much more dignified than this."

"Are you kidding, Connor? What life was I previously? There was no meaning for me! No responsibility! Just beer and titties! You want me to go back to that disgraceful, non-fabulous life? No future, just a life wasted hanging around in taverns lazing until the next day arrived and things repeated themselves…" Sober Hickey was panicking as Connor put his weapon away.

"I would rather have the Hickey who would steal the freedom of peoples in the name of profit rather than the Hickey who would steal the freedom of peoples in the name of a false prophet."

"Please don't, Connor! I worked so hard to get out of rehab… please don't!"

"You have fallen from grace, Hickey. I may no longer be the fool chasing butterflies, but that doesn't me you have to lie to yourself about who you really are. You are nothing more than the guy who will always have a beer in one hand and a titty in the other. You always had what you wanted, and you were content with that when you were the drunkard. But now Hickey, you are sober disgrace. Your hands will always be empty now. Is that what you wanted, Hickey?" And Hickey was silent.

"Kept me waiting, huh? Why didn't you kill him?" Lt. David asked Connor as he approached the two.

"No man should have to die like he is right now. Get him a few bottles of beer. Once he's all drunk and acting lewd, you then can kill him if you want." Connor told Lt. David. "I have business to take care of."

Connor turned and walked into the town as the Assassins that were still alive fled back into its mouth. The buildings in front of him shattered and turned to dust as Lincoln's army began to bombard the town. He fled quickly to the docks, avoiding all the Assassins and Lincoln troops doing battle. He scrambled to the ship where the Altair puppet was preaching, and before the Puppeteer or any of the guards could react, Connor was leaping at the Altair puppet and with a thwack the head of Altair puppet rolled away into the sea where it was lost to the grains of time forever. With another swing, he cut down the strings that held the puppet and swung again to knock the Puppeteer off his pedestal. The guards were reacting to him, readying to kill. But Connor quickly dispatched them, knocking the two guards unconscious and tossing their still bodies into the cold waters below. They were alone now, he and the Puppeteer. From here the Puppeteer looked like nothing but the average spectacled man with long hair and a growing beard. Not the man who used his talents to end the lives of many bold soldiers. It was death conversation time again, Connor knew.

"Why didn't you stick to entertaining kids? Why turn your interests to war?"

"I just wanted to express my art… myself. But no one, not even children, were looking for puppeteers in today's wintry economic climate. Only Desmond had an offer in store, and even if it meant death through my expression, so be it."

"Why do you do it, Mr-?"

"Mr. Schwartz to you, scary muscular Indian sir. My name is Craig Schwartz. What do you mean by that?"

"I mean why does it matter so much to you? Puppetry… it is not just a hobby of yours to perform in downtime?"

As Craig coughed out some blood, he muttered to Connor "Well, Indian, I'm not sure exactly. Perhaps its what only these puppets can offer. The idea of becoming someone else for a little while, like a Middle Eastern assassin named Altair. Being inside another human's skin. Moving differently, thinking differently, feeling differently. Don't you understand? I just wanted to spread puppetry, how it makes me feel. The emotions it can invoke, how being someone else teaches you so many things about yourself… do you know what I mean?"

Connor contemplated the Puppeteer's words as he looked over the remnants of the Altair puppet.

"What you say, although I can't say that I have enough experience to agree with it, is interesting. Looking at me now, as I hold your thread of life in between my fingers, do you want to be me as well? Think what I think? Go through what I've gone through? Feel what I have felt?"

"More than anything. I want to be… everyone."

"It's not good in here. Darker than your most frightening nightmare. I am not a pretty place to be. But… perhaps I can arrange for you to live. Come work for our side, put your talents to rightful use." Connor offered the Puppeteer his hand.

"With the puppets of my choosing?" Connor nodded and helped the Puppeteer up, putting him in handcuffs.

"You'll have to face trial first, Craig. Some won't be too pleased once they find out it was you who killed their friends and blood. But I can make your case." As Connor led Craig through the ruined town. The last of the dead were being cleaned from the streets, the remaining Assassins being rounded up and sorted off to prisoner camps. Atop the hillside, Lt. David was waiting for him alongside a new man Connor did not recognize. The man was tall, his legs lanky and his expression wise. His face was becoming weary with age and experience and he stroked his beard contemplatively as the approaching Connor. He tipped his hat at Connor, a gesture that the Cyborg Assassin did not recognize.

The sun was setting as Connor crossed the carnage-scorched plains alongside his new companions.

"General Lincoln, I presume."

"All that I am, and that I shall be."

"We need to have a chat, General." Connor said as he noticed Hickey leaning back against the entrance of the fort unguarded, several empty bottles scattered around him. He smelled quite foul, and he hiccupped as they passed him. "Buy me a drink, sailor?"

The night following the battle was fully engulfed by the overwhelming legion of darkness, not a solitary star providing a beacon in the forlorn sky.

* * *

**If you are still reading by this point and aren't shaking your head over and over again repeating the words what the fuck, be sure to leave a comment in the reviews section. I might take a break from this story seeing how I just cranked out 20 consecutive chapters, write something else regarding AC or the other things I like.  
**


	21. The Truth Revealed

**Officially on hiatus following this chapter.**

"Aw, Dezzie, you seem troubled. What's wrong?" Rebecca cooed to him a mockingly sugary tone of voice as he rubbed expensive strawberry lemon oil into her bare back.

"Well… well… I've been thinking lately. Something just feels off. I used to appear in every single chapter, you know. The fucking story is called _The Tyranny of King Desmond_, for fuck's sake! But now every single chapter is devoted to fucking Connor Fagway and his lame ass shit cyborg assassin adventures. I haven't done anything except get shoved around and humiliated by Jack so he can make everyone even Shaun look better than me! Fuck everything! I've been turned into a throwaway character in my own fucking story!"

"Aw, Dezzie, don't think like that!" Rebecca reassured him. "Oh yes… that's the right spot."

"No one respects me, and I'm King! I hold in my hands a pair of scissors and the puny strings that maintain their rat-riddled lives. I'm the baddest, but no one believes me! I… I… tried to steal a hot dog from a vendor… and they… they… they threw a tomato at me!" Desmond burst into tears.

"King Desmond… you're the king of reality. You'll always be the king of reality. You just need to do something that'll let you control the people… fear should do it. Fear is how you'll do it. They fear someone more than you… that's why you lack their respect. But once you take out the person that they fear…"

"They'll fear me once I start buttfucking them up their rat-laced asses! So… who do they fear? Can't be Connor… as far as they know the Fagway Indian's dead. They don't fear the Fagway Father, they adore him. Like the second coming of Christ. But I killed Christ first thing I took power. He would've been problematic. So I'll have to keep tabs on the Fagway Father too. Altair died…"

"What do you mean dead? Don't you mean the puppet fake destroyed?"

"That was a puppet?"

"You forgot your own plan, Dezzie?"

"Shut up Rebeccca! I get preoccupied you know! The McCarthy siblings just released another one of their tapes you know! Those are some very engaging pieces of entertainment…" Desmond smiled as he remembered last night's wank.

"But that leaves only one option… E…z…i…o… No! I won't do it! He's the greatest!" Desmond smiled as he remembered the time he had relived sex in Ezio's body.

"Don't you want the people to respect you?" Rebecca questioned.

"I know… since they don't respect me as a king… I'll have to be… A QUEEN!" Desmond's eyes lit up as Rebecca rolled her eyes. He raised the Fapple high up and screamed "Queen me, bitch!"

Nothing happened, except a faint splash in the distance.

"Looks like your piece of all reality didn't come with that superpower equipped."

Desmond's eyes welled up, his lips started to quiver and the tears were flowing near uncontrollably now.

Fortunately for him, the lights on the set dimmed and he heard a clap followed by the sound of a man yelling "cut!" The wells in Desmond's eyes dried up, another famine in the endless sand seas of a lonesome desert stretching for miles upon end into the bleak and arid horizon. And without warning the director, a short bespectacled but cantankerous man was in Desmond's face shouting as his fist waved in his eyes like a pendulum clock spittle flying from his lips and his skin reddening like a blue lobster turning crimson through a perpetual grilling rotation motion until it is reduced to little more than ashes. Blask ashes. He had Desmond's collar in his hands, and if he wanted to, Desmond deduced, he could kill him right here and now.

"Alright, Miles, what the fuck do you think that was? You call that a fine performance worthy of Shakespearean stage?"

"I… I… read the script perfectly, didn't I?" Desmond begged for mercy as he found it harder to breath in between his gasps as the director shook him back and forth.

"You dimwitted bugfuck. You think you can come onto my sets, in my studio, work with my people by lazing through a weakly memorized script? No, that's not acting. You're in it just for moolah, aren't you? No motivation other than your bling-bling, no passion for the work. You sicken me, Desmond Miles. I want you to take a few moments to catch a breath… THEN GO FUCK YOUR OWN DERANGE-O FACE!" The director released Desmond.

As Desmond lay arched over the floor on the verge of releasing foul dark-souled bile, the director walked off ranting. "I cried, didn't I? That was passion and emotion right?' Desmond begged hopefully.

"Dezzie, there's a difference between showing emotion as an actor and just pretending to be a full-out sissy retard. And you Dezzie, I'm afraid, are the latter." Rebecca smirked at him as she dressed her self and packed her belongings in a bag before she departed from the set. In the distance Desmond could see the make-up artists removing the "zombie treatment" from Lucy. Sigmund Freud was receiving a fat check with many zeroes for his guest appearance. Warren Vidic was ranting with one of the producers over his pay and contract.

"Fuck me… I need to get some lunch." Desmond lurched off to the mess hall, a miniature food court for the actors and other staff members.

* * *

Desmond had difficulty deciding what to eat for lunch. It wasn't Taco Tuesday, certainly, and even if he was in the mood for some spick cuisine the booth had been barred up and unemployed for three days now. Heh, the health inspector probably swung around recently and put those beaners out of business. Desmond always swore that their double sour cream spicy beef tacos weren't using cow and maybe he had been confirmed. Pizza then, maybe, but Desmond than scanned the local booth and his eyes dropped and his soul drooped to mere centimeters of wasted hope as he saw the giant line. By then, there would be no more fresh slices, and he would be stuck with the week-old anchovy apple. He could maybe order a small personal pizza perhaps, but then he would have to wait and when he did get his pizza he knew that one slice would fill him up and someone else would always mooch the rest of the slices off of him before he could store them in his fridge. So Japanese food it was, then.

He went to the Japanese food booth, Szechuan Wok. He filled his Styrofoam takeout box with a variety of Japanese dishes: Kung Pao chicken, dry-fried beef, and chow mein. He got a Mountain Dew with his meal, and tried to hit on the half-Japanese girl Melanie Lee who ran the cash register and also occasionally cooked. But she merely rolled her eyes and coldly forced his change into his palms without a hint of returning his burning passion.

Holding his food on a tray, Desmond looked for a spot to sit and eat his food before returning to work. The director was a giant blowhard, he decided, and he would relish the opportunity to kill him the way he had killed Cross and Vidic. Just more climatically, and much more sadistically.

"Hey Shaun. Hey Rebecca. Can I sit here?" Desmond politely asked the two, who were chowing down on chicken nuggets in yellow BBQ sauce with a bit of imported German lager to swig down the "chicken." He saw Shaun had unbuttoned the tops of his shirt and the collar was pushed up, Rebecca sensually rubbing him in public. Desmond was a bit embarrassed at the thought that people could be staring at them right now.

"Sorry Dezzie… but you see…" Rebecca begun

"…we're straight." Shaun finished.

"And you see, we can't afford to get photographed with queer magnets like you in public." Rebecca spat in his chicken.

"Not even the good sort of fag too." Shaun commented. "The type that relaxes the nerves. So buzz off until you can do so, wanker." Shaun lit a cigarette as Rebecca shooed the dejected Desmond away by grabbing him and pouring some of the lager down his shirt as Shaun rubbed the burning end of the cigarette against his neck.

Desmond scanned the remainder of the dining area, looking for a table that would welcome him. Lieutenant David's (that was his name, right?) table was filled, and David seemed to be preoccupied with signing autographs. Why would people be seeking him for autographs? Who the hell was Lieutenant David? Maybe Ezio then, but as soon as Desmond locked eyes with the Italian assassin he was warded off by a murderous warning glance. After multiple similar results, he looked like he was going to have to eat all this standing up then as there was nowhere to sit. Until he heard the voice.

"Nowhere to eat, Desmond?" Desmond looked at the mildly sympathetic gaze of Connor.

"Oh. Hi, Connor. Seems here everyone's too busy to notice me or they just plain hate me." Desmond shook his head, gazing forlornly at Connor's sandwich bag.

"I know that sort of feeling well. Ever since our game launched in October last year and saw all the articles and videos and podcasts that tore me to specks of dust… it was a very harrowing feeling."

"So here we are, two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl. You wanna drop this food on some bum?" Desmond asked as all the tables around them were entirely filled.

"We aren't exactly in a lost situation, as you claim. You see, me and my father have improved things between us quite greatly recently. We are on a speaking basis outside of the work once more. He gave me these yesterday." Connor flashed some shiny black passes in front of Desmond's eyes modestly. The private dining area, Desmond realized. Where all the really big boys and girls hung out.

"You would use these passes on someone… like.. me?" Desmond asked, his eyes starting to genuinely well with tears.

"I would be your friend, if you would like it to be so."

* * *

The two sat on the outside overlook of the VIP dining area, with a great view of the sea. The cool breeze, Desmond decided, was a nice complement to their meals which had long been finished. Connor sat relaxed as he finished the last of his Dang! root beer and showed that he was mildly amused by Desmond's futile shot at getting the last drop of Mountain Dew from the can to his tongue.

"This production, _The Tyranny of King Desmond_, it's just a great big nightmare." Desmond shook his head. "And I thought it was so cool that I signed up for it instantly when I read the original script."

"The writer, this Jack, I feel that as if he is too unstable a playwright, to have been in charge of the whole story. He keeps changing things from his original vision, so much so that we have found ourselves in the perverted scenarios that we act out now. The guest stars he keeps forcing us to interact with do not help, and if he keeps that tomfoolery up we may find ourselves acting in a half-baked crossover. Not to mention the plot holes, inconsistencies, and the threads that he keeps snipping and leaving abandoned. I feel as if we should petition for his removal, but I doubt that even the most talented of screenwriters could salvage the trainwreck that Jack perpetuated." Connor shook his head.

"And damn… that son of a bitch director. Fucking blowhard. I want to wrench his neck so badly, but this isn't like the games at all. We would get arrested, and we wouldn't be able to escape by hiding in hale after leaping into it from ten stories above. We'd be paralyzed or dead. And in prison paralyzed. Fucker… I hope this project goes back to bite him in the nuts and buttfuck him afterwards. Does he give you a shit time too, Connor?" Connor nodded.

"The production keeps biting us in the nuts too. Did you know that the Iron Assassin armor was supposed to make its debut this chapter, but we had to push that back because some UPS idiot accidentally delivered us twenty copies of Deadpool: The Game instead. And you know what the bullshit part is? We have to pay for the shipping of the games to the rightful address and pay AGAIN to get the Iron Assassin armor delivered? Motherfuckers… I sometimes wish communism was the answer."

"Look on the bright side… didn't you at least get to see your father again when he was on set?"

"It's not like you and your dad. He always hated me and he ran off the set as soon as his part finished filming. Not a single word, just a 'You were always a failure in my eyes' look and he was gone. Just like the time he ran out on me and my mum when I was five on the account of 'buying ice cream.' The only time I saw him again before we were on _The Tyranny _was when I was on ACR and AC3, and then it was like trying to convince a lion that it should go vegan."

"I am sorry to hear that. There was a time when I thought that me and my father, we would always be at each other's throats. But Mother helped… she made us go the movies together, prepare meals together, and so on. I eventually forgave him for strangling me and he eventually forgave me for stabbing him in the neck. Of course, there are still problems but I feel that we have made bounds I terms of our relationship. Now if only I could convince him to see Monsters University instead of waiting for Pacific Rim… anyways, have I told you about the time we went to egg George Washington's house together with my grandfather?"

"Wish I could've that sort of luck with Bill…" Desmond muttered in a sign of detectable jealousy before realizing what Connor had said. "Wait a fucking second. There are more of you?"

"Edward Kenway. He was a man of the seas who sailed with characters of a questionable nature, or so I am told. He will be the new kid, the game that's coming out this October. I am sad, that I won't get a chance soon to return to Assassin's Creed like the big Italian banker boy did, but I am grateful that my family has gotten the exposure that it did. Perhaps we will unseat Ezio, become the defining faces of the franchise." Connor mused.

"Holee shit… a pirate was my ancestor? Being bros with Blackbeard? Fucking up Anne Bonny? Hot damn, I wish I could've relived that in the Animus. Please tell me I'm resurrected."

"It will be some random punk that does it. The player playing themselves, so I am told."

"That's bullshit."

"Don't worry. They'll probably have you back as a ghost in the machine. Like Clay."

"Clay?"

"Subject Sixteen. He had a name too, you know."

"Shucks to be me, then. I don't remember dialogue well after I deliver it."

"Why do those women at the other table keep sending those giggles and glances at us? I never thought that we were the type that the feminine sort found overtly attractive."

"It's weird. They dress exactly like us. They have similar heights and builds to us looking at them from this position. They even have scars like ours in the exactly same fucking positions. Hmm… maybe that 'Queen me!' dialogue in the script wasn't so random after all."

"I don't think so. Look, they are now kissing each other so tenderly. I think those are just some more crazed fangirls. Pitiful lot, they are."

"I guess you're right about that one."

"So, what else are we going to chat about? I have nothing else to do for the day, and you don't have to return to the set for another couple of minutes." Connor informed Desmond.

"Will Edward be joining us?" Desmond signaled to his copy of the script, the 536th revision edition.

"Maybe. Not until the game releases and we know what his character is like so Jack can pervert it. Then again, that is based on if we are still running until then and have money to afford him. But seeing how we keep spilling it on the pointless guest stars…" Connor shook his head.

Desmond wanted to change the subject. Get away from Assassin's Creed, away from _The Tyranny of King Desmond_. He just wanted to be a decent nice guy chatting it up with other decent nice guy about their lives when their lives weren't being grinded into the meat machine of their jobs in the entertainment industry.

"Do anything good lately?"

"Got my copy of The Last of Us. I played through it during my breaks, much to Haytham's chagrin. He never saw the appeal of video games, he tells me. But even he grew interested as he watched me play. I wish that I could retcon my memory, experience as something new again and again. I had the time of my life with that game. First time in ages that I was motivated and pumped to replay. Bioshock Infinite failed at that, Uncharted 3 failed at that, even my own game failed at that. And Joel, he was someone that I could sympathize with. We've both gone through… a lot."

"Sounds amazing. Too bad all I got on set is a GameCube, which would be amazing actually, if I had remembered to pack some fucking games with it."

"Perhaps, in other breaks, I can try to find some software for you." Connor offered and Desmond's eyes beamed up in gratitude."

"That would be fucking radical, man."

Connor finished the last of his root beer.

"I've been thinking, Desmond. How futile our existence is. How pointless everything is."

"Pointless? Futile?"

"We are video game characters, Desmond. We were always at the mercy of what THEY wanted to do with us. Patrice Desilets, Corey May, Alex Amancio, Darby McDewitt, Alex Hutchinson… they dictated every last waking moment of our lives. They controlled us, they forced upon us great tragedy and stilted development and poor mission design. Even now, when we should finally be free, we are still at the mercy of the fanbase. Jack, in this case. I guess we'll never be free then, as long as they're still around. We'll always be wheeled around between sets, forced to enact all the asinine amateur scripts 'till our franchise dies and we are thrust to the outermost rims of obscurity."

"I don't really get it…"

"I sympathize. You'll understand it all in time."

"So… if we do ever find our freedom at last, what are you going to do?"

"I am going to take my father and mother, and we are going to see the world. Then I will settle down, find a nice wife, move into a nice house, and build a nice family. I have to get to you, somehow. But that is merely wistful thinking. We are nothing but players, and our lives will never be anything beyond a stage."

"That's depressing."

"A crossover wouldn't be too bad, I guess. If we could meet other lives from other sets, perhaps we could find someone to share our turmoils with."

"I guess."

"There are a few here around already. But they only laugh me down when I try to talk to them… no one takes me seriously. To them, I'm just the disappointment of a hero from his equally disappointing game. Even Haytham still rubs his reception compared to mine in my face sometimes…"

"How do you deal with it?"

"With what?"

"The haters, Connor. You know, we are the two most hated characters in the franchise everywhere. To the world at large, we are nothing but boring. Whiny. Too serious. Too depressing. No character whatsoever. And so on."

"It was true, that I was depressed and unsure of how to proceed after I saw how people reacted to me. The things they said, the people they compared me to. It was like slander, being unable to do anything about it made me feel helpless. And then when I found out how much Ubisoft had cut from the game, that would've helped with my development. It was a truly dark, powerless moment."

"But you seem fine, now."

"It was a long road, shrouded in darkness. They helped me proceed, the small but vocal minority that found something in me that they could identify with. To them, I had another side. I wasn't boring, I wasn't emotionless. I was compassionate, I was sensitive, I was inspiring, I was believable, I was so much more. My heart damn near broke when I saw all the people who said that I was the most human Assassin yet, that I was their favorite, and that they were saddened by the possibility of never seeing me again. And when I heard that people were setting up petitions, Facebook groups, tribute videos on Youtube, all to bring me back… you don't know that feeling Desmond until it happens. Fans are like a double-edge sword. They are irritating, entitled brats at time. They have sickening minds, with their yaoi and incest and gamer girl gets sucked in video game stories, etc. But at the other spectrum, they are why we exist in the first place. They are the ones that made it possible for our stories to be told and enjoyed, and for our stories to continue. Even when the last Assassin's Creed has crumbled to its knees in the name of the gaming industry, we will maintain our places in their minds and hearts. Perhaps forever and ever, 'till even destiny itself dies. Even you have fans like mine, Desmond, small as they may be. And remember them, for my fans have kept me going even when all else have abandoned their gazes, and your fans shall do the same."

The two were silent for a moment after this, watching birds fly over the breaking waves. Somewhere in the distance, a dolphin surfaced and dove from surface to surface.

"I think I hear Mr. Blowhard calling."

"I guess that's your cue to return, then."

"What was the point of all this, the conversation, the food?"

"Nothing much, I guess. It's all irrelevant in the end. I probably will never get a sequel in spite of what my fans plead for, you'll remain abandoned in spite of what your fans want. We are nothing more than specks of dust at the mercy of an unloving guardian unseen who has long forsaken us. We are nothing more than players on a stage, some unseen playwright manipulating us as he reads from the books of Destiny. In the end, nothing matters. Nothing made a difference. But I guess that's just how life is. But we all travel down the road, nonetheless. For isn't it the journey that matters, not the outcome? And our journeys have been something, that is for certain."

"I guess you have a point. Better get back quick, or Mr. Bugfuck will gouge out my eyes."

"See you then, Desmond."

And Connor was alone. Alone as he had been many times before. But he knew that out there, someone was there cheering him on. He wasn't really alone, no even at the worst of his reception he had never been alone. There was always someone behind him, and that made him content.

He stayed until sunset.

And as Connor, a lonesome black silhouette against the backdrop of the red sky, walked back to his quarters, he whispered to no one.

"I am grateful to all of you."

* * *

Somewhere beyond these confines, there was a great big tree that was struck by a bolt of lighting. The flames that ensued devoured the tree, leaving behind nothing but a pitiful sapling nearby, its next of kin. The great big tree that stood there before was decently loved by those who had watched it grow, but many had begged for much more. The lightning and flames that ensued enthralled them, and they were loved and had made sure that the flames had lasted for eons long and generations grew old and died before the fire was finally put out. The people as they buried the fathers before them were ready to move beyond the flames but the pitiful sapling was not what they had wanted. In their fury, the sapling was burned like its mother before it. To nothing but ashes. So they had left the ashes untended, scorned for lacking the majesty of its predecessors. Alone and forsaken. Until a wanderer came along. He saw in ashes something that he could identify with in himself. Perhaps it was the memory of losing his own mother. He knew was it was to be unloved, left alone to wallow with no help in sight. He pitied the ashes, innocence and potential of the sapling mishandled and lost to the catacombs of what might have been. So he took a box and he stored up all the ashes. They did not take up much of the space, but they felt heavy and accepted in the wanderer's arms. He took the box to a cliff overlooking the sea.

And as the wanderer lifted the cover of the box, the ashes fell but they did not fall into the loveless waters below. For a great wind came and carried them far, across seasons and revolutions. Perhaps a few seeds were remnant in the ashes, for where the ashes landed a great field of saplings bloomed. And as the world around them changed, the saplings grew more majestic in their splendor until from them a royal forest stood. But the world around them burned to the ground, and the forest was not spared. But as the ashes rose into the night sky, there was a vast light. The moon reigned in its luminance, and those who saw it felt something within themselves break. The ashes continued to fly upward in spirals and twirls, ascending higher and higher in escalating bliss until at last they reached a place beyond the clouds where the sky always was a peaceful shade of blue and the depression of the clouds and their rain never intervened. The darkness was long gone, and in their brave new world the ashes found the answers to mysteries and they learned of the things that not even Destiny knew. There, a new field of saplings bloomed, brilliant colors shapes and scents unknown to mortal sensations. All those who tasted the fruit they bore were enlightened.

And on one day, a small seed drifted down from the clouds. It landed somewhere, and from it, another great big tree grew. On the tree was a door that led to places unknown, worlds indefinite in an abyss lost to time. The wanderer came across the tree on one of his travels, and he noted the door. Perhaps he recognized them as the ashes from his travels when he felt the bark and leaves but perhaps he did not. The world was growing colder, darker as he had continued on his journey. He was hesitant about opening the door, but he knew that there was no one left to turn back too. The world he had known had long moved on. There was nowhere besides the door to continue to. And so he opened it, and his eyes were filled with ecstasy as he saw the splendor in front of him.

The wanderer looked back, and he saw nothing but shadows and falling snow. There was nothing for him back there, and his companions had long deserted him. No one wanted him here, but who knew what waited for him in the place beyond the tree? There, he might live forever. And perhaps people were waiting for him there.

And he passed through the door. And no feeling, no description, could some up the awe that awaited him in the place that lay behind the confines of death and destiny. It was a realm of dreams and delirium.

And the door closed behind him but even as the place where the great big tree lay was eclipsed by the tormentors of shadows and snow, more would come one day.


	22. Finale act I - Previously On

War. War never changes.

Following the battle where Lincoln's rebel army overcame the forces of King Desmond at the coast and defeated his nefarious general, the premeditated Puppet Altair, the support of the common people begin gravitating away from the King's lap into the somewhat welcoming arms of the rebels. They had been scared before, but now, with the devastating losses inflicted upon the King's men, they rise up and defy the Crown. The rebels establish their mother base on a large chain of offshore islands, and with resupply and new contacts forged, they overtake the coastal areas faster than a value menu order at McDonald's and begin their triumphant marches inland. Alliances are forged, beginning with the union of Lincoln and Kaczmarek. But still, their enemy is far from defeated and soon enough Desmond utilizes his trump cards. Devious experiments that he took all the credit for even though he did jack to bring them to life. With mutations and technological marvels at his deployment, Desmond succeeds in slowing things down, buying more time… to plan for future moves…

In the midst of this all, the two reunite. Father and son, but both have changed since their parting in Chapter Two. Connor, captured and experimented upon by the King's men, had only recently won the battle against his own fractured psyche and even so he still lingered on the razor's edge of an utter psychopathic breakdown. He was unsure of what the future would bring, and what he had done during his period of instability… frightened him. The power that he now possessed after the treatments frightened him, and he found himself lusting for more in the dark corners of his mind. He had dreams about the power… the power that was alive and the promises it made to him. Dreams that crooned of a light shining in darkness. Of an enigma who used his great power to make the world right called the Father. He worked for Lincoln now, he guessed, fighting for the rebels. But he was cautious. He remembered very well what had happened with the Patriots. He had escaped becoming subservient to the Washingtons and Miles of the world. He was his own man now, no one's errand boy. The moment he no longer needed Lincoln, he set out on his own.

Haytham Kenway thought his son to be lost. He wanted to march into Capitol City as a one-man army tripped out on rage and slay those responsible for Connor's perceived passing, but he had remembered how the son he knew had balked at his brutality. So, he had mellowed a bit. He had spared his first prisoners in so many years these past few weeks. And here he was now, the hero of the Resistance. Fighting for a memory of the old world, an old world that he longed feverishly to return to.

The two reencountered each other in the flesh on a reconnaissance mission in the frozen northern wastes. Haytham had been sent to break out Shaun Hastings, master propagandist who had fallen out of favor with Desmond over a supposed orange soda conspiracy. Connor was sent to steal the blueprints for the mass-produced Vittoria Assassino armor, a suit of powerful combat armor that Desmond was testing for use in his elite army units. The two, as always, found working with each other with their own hidden agendas to be a bit of a pain. Their roles had been reversed, now it was Haytham who tried to keep his son's increasing bloodlust in check. The only times in the wastes where Haytham and Connor truly worked as one was defeating Desmond's Animi Squadron Unit Omicron, a batch of super soldiers created by his experiments after the scrapping of the Cyborg Assassin program. The Nobleman, the Vizier, the Lady Maverick, and the Lady Black all fought notably and in exchange they died with their bodies horrifically mutilated in the most undignified nonsexual manner possible by Connor. With Shaun extracted and the Vittoria Assassino program set back, the two departed the frozen wastes together their alliance ever unstable.

Ezio Auditore, the famed Italian grand master, showed up in two. The twin Ezios were unaware of their dual existence at first, and they milled about doing their own work. Ezio A, the superior blooded Ezio, was the more ambitious of the two. He dreamed of an idyllic paradise where the Assassin master race ruled the globe. He used his influence to force Desmond into granting him his own chunk of land, where his dreams were seeded. He rounded up all those he suspected of being his hated Templars. Catholics, niggers, beaners, faggots, non-consenting women, the whole big deal. Ezio had built immense camps, just waiting for their showers to be turned on and their ovens to be fired. And he would've succeeded in liberating the world from the Templars, had it not been for the work of so-called Assassin Yves Guillemot and his Templar slave Patrice Desililets. Templar labor… Ezio chided himself for his stupidity, for not seeing the true intentions of Guillemot's List. And as such, Yves Guillemot was forever remembered as the one who saved the world entire with one life as Patrice himself said. Guillemot himself was ashamed, as he knew he could have saved more. There were fewer than a thousand Templars left alive in Ezio's quarter, but in the time to come more than six thousand Templars would descent from Guillemot's Templars.

Ezio B, the Ezio we all know and love, mostly hung around brothels and occasionally killed a rabid fanboy in "self-defense" until the Resistance found and recruited him.

Altair showed up as well. Malik got a cool cyborg arm. They were naturally disgusted to hear of Desmond's cardboard cutouts of them which he used to roleplay when he was bored.

Desmond, seeing the threat, had two plans in mind. There was his Iron Assassin armor, a super-duper power combat armor designed specifically for him. So specific it only responded to his genetics… and anyone who had preceded him in the bloodline. Oops. So in some daring heist, Ezio B stole it along with Desmond's personal harem which included the half-nigger Aveline. This infuriated Desmond to no known end, but to his admittance, when Ezio B flew it over to Ezio's quarter and vaporized Ezio A it did take one grievance off his plate.

With his harem gone and his "wives" Lucy and Rebecca tormenting him as the dominatrixes they were, Desmond spent most of his time afterwards watching porn and MLP in his room. He really wanted some orange sodas.

People are still riding dinosaurs, by the way.

The writer **XxRadicalBumLickersxX** continued to publish chapters in his epic totally non incestuous what if modern day fanfic involving Connor and Haytham _Father Loves Daughter. _ And Desmond read all these chapters with a fiery eagerness.**  
**

Desmond's other plan involved finding and uniting the fragmented artifacts of all reality. His Fapple was strong, but it still had its limitations. But with all the artifacts together, he would surely become the baddest badass. It was a mad race of his, snatching up all the artifacts that his scouts had located and meshing them together with his Fapple to create something he called A Light Shining in Darkness. It was a work in progress. Best of all, they only thought the Fapple gave him power. They had no idea about the other artifacts. He had only lost one artifact so far, the Mask of Redead. Some punk prospector had snatched it from the temple where it rested, and there was a brief rising of the dead. He had quickly silenced that before anyone knew what had happened. He only missed one who had risen from the grave… Edward Kenway.

Some more stuff happened.

Lucy was assassinated and this pissed off Desmond because Rebecca always messed up his sandviches while Lucy didn't.

Rebecca defected and this pissed off Desmond because now there was NO ONE to make his sandviches.

So he rode off on his T-Rex and slaughtered a whole contingent of rebels in his rage, demonstrating to a suddenly stunned resistance that he by no means was letting himself go. He took out Clay and hung his decapitated head high from a pike at the city gates. The rest of the body, he had Clay's remains Kentucky fried and it was quite delicious. Like Daniel Cross, but with a hint of Polish smoke. The rebels were demoralized, but Haytham quickly took over and whipped them back into shape.

The stage has been set.

The rebel army gathers outside of the Capitol City's gates and Desmond's Assassin Army rushes out to meet them in battle. The gates threaten to fall and dissent threatens to tear the Capitol apart from the inside. Yet, Desmond isn't worried. They have no idea what he has in plan. And Desmond himself isn't aware of those who lurk beyond the shadows watching him.

The Circle of Eleven march ahead of their army to confront Desmond themselves and end this madness once and for all. They are Altair Ibn-La'ahad, Ezio Auditore da Firenze, Connor, Haytham Kenway, Edward Kenway, Aveline de Grandpre, Nikolai Orelov, Jason Brody, Samuel Fisher, Aiden Pierce, and Arbaaz Mir. They were there as early as the beginning of Assassin's Creed and they will bring it to an end.

The writer's not even sure if all these people are from Assassin's Creed to be honest.

Desmond sits on his throne and waits. The Fapple is useless now, a mere relic from when this first started. All its power has become A Light Shining in Darkness. They really do have no idea what he's become capable of.

War. War is about to change.


End file.
